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No. 13 RUE MARLOT 


Translated from the French of 
RenF de PoNT-yosT 

BY ^ 

VI R GINIA CHAMP LIN 





BOSTON 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 


NEW YORK 

CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM 
1880 


Copyright, 1880, 

By lee and SHEPARD. 


All rights reserved. 


W.a JHg Jn'cnl) 


• JAMES B. RICHARDSON, ESQ., 

IN RECOGNITION OF 


HIS EARNEST SYMPATHY WITH THE EFFORTS TO REFORM 
CERTAIN LEGAL ABUSES DESCRIBED 
IN THIS BOOK, 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Lodgers in the House of M. and Mme. Bernier, i 

« 

CHAPTER 11. 

An Unknown Corpse 9 

CHAPTER III. 

William Dow appears in order to take the Readers 

of this Story to walk amid Horrible Sights . 22 

CHAPTER IV. 

M. Meslin’s Hopes 36 

CHAPTER V. 

A Dismal Place • ... 50 

CHAPTER VI. 

The First Steps of the Examination .... 63 

CHAPTER VII. 

How William Dow employed at Paris the Time that 

Master Picot lost at Versailles .... 69 

• CHAPTER VIII. 

The Examination 78 

CHAPTER IX. 

Shows who was the Victim of No. 13, and where he 

came from 95 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

PAGE 


In which Chance comes to the Aid of M. de 

MEL 

Four- 

102 

CHAPTER XI. 

Master Picot and William Dow meet again 



117 

CHAPTER XII. 

At the Permanence 



129 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Night at the Jaii 



136 

CHAPTER XIV. 

M. Adolphe Morin’s Love-affairs . 



148 

CHAPTER XV. 

Margaret’s Romance 



162 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Catastrophe 



169 

CHAPTER XVIL 

Alone 



00 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

At Saint-Lazare 



194 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Court of Assizes 



210 


CHAPTER XX. 


William Dow returns, to the Amazement of Mas- 
ter PiCOT 


229 


CHAPTER XXL 

He Killed Himself , , . . 


239 


CHAPTER XXIL 

Which shows that Master Picot was $atisfiep 


258 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


CHAPTER 1 . 

THE LODGERS IN THE HOUSE OF M. AND MME. 

BERNIER. 

The name of the Rue Marlot, the scene of the 
tragic event which we now propose to relate, is 
changed and gone ; but it was in a most retired 
and quiet part of the Marais, — then the outskirts 
of Paris, — a short distance from the Place Royale, 
formerly so called, which since the Revolution has 
been known, though for what reasons we cannot 
say, as the Place des Vosges. 

In fact, revolutions in Paris, however admirably 
designed — at least, so their authors declare — to 
produce useful reforms in laws and customs, have 
hitherto accomplished little, except to change the 
names of her streets. 

This one, where we now invite our readers to 
accompany us, was composed of about twenty 
houses, of which No. 13 was the most unpreten- 
tious ; though, by strict observance by its owner 

I 


2 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


of the ordinances in this respect, it was kept neat, 
and repainted every few years. 

Its four narrow stories, each lighted by three 
windows, hardly reached the top of the second 
story of two immense buildings, which, flanking jt 
proudly on the right and left, seemed to dispute 
the small space which it occupied. 

It might have been compared to a little country 
shopkeeper thrown among merchant princes threat- 
ening to overcome and extinguish him. 

Opposite stood the Hotel du Dauphin, whose 
only patrons usually were provincials who had 
relatives living in the vicinity, or perchance a 
few foreigners who wished to avoid the noise and 
tumult of wealthy and populous neighborhoods. 

In truth, the Rue Marlot was tranquillity itself. 
Omnibus-drivers scarcely knew of its existence, 
and ten carriages in one day were never seen to 
pass through it. 

After nine o’clock in the evening, such silence 
reigned in it that one might have thought himself 
in the city of the Grand Monarch,” before the 
Louvois salons had become the noisy tippling- 
houses of the rabble representatives of the 4th 
of September. 

The entrance to No. 13 was by a small door, 
which opened into a narrow and rather dark hall, 
where on the right you immediately came to the 
office of the conciergey which was kept spotlessly 
clean, and lighted by the only window of the 
ground-floor opening on the street. 


LODGERS OF M, AND MME. BERNIER. 


3 


It was here, that, for twenty years or more, two 
worthy persons, a married couple by the name of 
Bernier, watched over the fortunes of their realm. 
The husband, who was an old soldier full of rheu- 
matism, was no longer very active ; yet his wife, 
though nearly sixty, still had sound feet and eyes, 
and so her house was kept in perfect neatness and 
order. 

Mme. Bernier had but four lodgers, and they 
were models. 

On the first floor lived Capt. Martin, who lost 
an arm, and won a medal and a pension, at Sebas- 
topol. 

In the morning after breakfast, a frugal meal 
brought him by his concierge, the old officer used 
to take a walk for his health in the Place Royale. 
In the evening he dined in a small restaurant in 
the neighborhood ; then, after remaining a while 
in the nearest cafe in the company of several for- 
mer military comrades, he invariably returned at 
nine o’clock, receiving, as he passed the office, a 
military salute from Bernier, whose favorite he 
had naturally become. 

On the second story were M. and Mme. Cha- 
puzi, Philemon and Baucis ; whose ages together 
amounted to nearly a century and a half. Phile- 
mon-Chapuzi, a retired revenue officer, receiving 
the usual moderate pension, which Baucis man- 
aged so well in household expenses, that the hum- 
ble tenants could receive a dozen friends four or 
five times a year. 


4 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT, 


Excepting on these gala-days, the old people, 
from economy as well as from need of rest, retired 
with the sun. 

The apartment on the third story had been 
occupied, for four months only, by a delicate, 
young, fair-haired lady, Mme. Bernard, on whom 
Mother Bernier at first had looked rather unfa- 
vorably. 

When Mme. Bernard came to the house to hire 
rooms, she was in mourning, and seemed ill and 
unhappy, and evidently was soon to become a 
mother. 

All this frightened the honorable concierge of 
No. 13. Selfish like almost all old persons, she 
feared that this woman might at any moment 
cause some disturbance, either on account of her- 
self or her child, and she hesitated about accept- 
ing her for a tenant ; but the curate of the St- 
Denis parish came and recommended the stranger, 
affirming that Mme. Bernard was a young widow, 
worthy of all respect, and an orphan besides ; and 
so Mme. Bernier consented to let the apartment 
to her. 

She had no cause, however, to regret her decis- 
ion. Her new tenant was good and gentle, rarely 
went out, and never received callers. 

Five or six days previous to the beginning of 
this story she had given birth to a charming little 
daughter, and was cared for by an excellent sister 
of charity, sent by the good priest, her protector. 

As for the upper story of the house, half of it 


LODGERS OF M. AND MME, BERNIER. 


5 


was let to a postal-clerk, M. Tissot, who slept at 
home only two or three times a week ; the other 
half served as a storeroom for the Bernier house- 
hold. 

M. Tissot was the only tenant to whom the 
outer door was opened at any moment of the 
night, his hours of return being necessarily irreg- 
ular. 

He had a particular way of making himself 
known to his concierges y in order that they might 
not be misled by any tramp about the vicinity. 
He rang slowly three times, and at the same time 
knocked twice on the shutters of the office. 

Thus M. and Mme. Bernier always knew who 
was at the door; and one or the other, at the 
agreed signal, would draw^ the latch-string with- 
out disturbing themselves further, feeling sure in 
advance of the identity of the person entering. 

A single staircase, it must be understood, served 
every one in the house. It began at the end of 
the hall on the right, before the glass door of a 
small inner court ten square metres in size, where 
the sun never penetrated, owing to the height of 
the surrounding buildings, which had an outlook 
on No. 13 only through windows regulated by law ; 
and this staircase climbed steep and winding from 
the ground-floor to the top of the house, but was 
as bright and neat on the last step as on the first. 


1 In lodging-houses in Paris, pass-keys are not usually given to ten- 
ants ; a concilrgCy by pulling a cord at his bedside at an agreed signal, 
opens the door, the cord connecting with the latch. — Translator. 


6 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT. 


In this, as in every thing that concerned clean- 
liness, Mme. Bernier was pitilessly strict. On 
every story, ornamented with a clothes-rack fas- 
tened to the wall, such as one sees even now-a- 
days in some old hotels in Paris, there was a 
platform several feet broad, which was but dimly 
lighted by a small window, — where there was a 
view of a bit of sky, but which did not extend 
horizontally beyond the neighboring walls, which 
one might almost touch by extending his arm. 

No. 13 Rue Marlot, in spite of its fatal number, 
was, as it appears, the quietest and most peace- 
ful of dwellings. The birth of Mme. Bernard’s 
'-cliild was the only interesting event that for 
more years had disturbed its tranquil- 

lity. Yet Mme. Bernier did not retain her preju- 
dice against her tenant. 

Although the good concierge liked children only 
moderately well, she nevertheless felt touched 
at the sight of this little fatherless being, and 
offered her services freely to the young mother, 
whom she visited every few moments to assure 
herself that she wanted nothing. 

The sixth day after her child’s birth, the 3d of 
March, 18 — , Mme. Bernard was attacked with 
violent fever ; and Mme. Bernier could not go to 
bed without making a last call on the sick lady. 
After closing her doors for the night, and prepar- 
ing to retire, she may* have wished that she, too, 
had a fresh and rosy babe to care for. 

The next morning, at daybreak, just after the 


LOPGERS OF M. AND MME, BERNIER, 


7 


good woman had risen (for she was always up 
first), and just after she had opened the door for 
the milkman, it being his hour to come, she sud- 
denly heard a piercing shriek on the second story. 

Recognizing Mme. Chapuzi’s voice, she ran up 
the . stairs, but, on reaching the landing, drew back 
in horror. 

Leaning ^.gainst the sill of her open door, and 
unable to speak another word, the old lodger 
pointed with a trembling hand to a man lying on 
his back, bathed in his blood, on the first steps of 
the stairs on the third story. 

‘‘ Bernier ! Captain ! ” called the concierge with 
all her strength, not daring to take another step. 

The old soldier immediately hastened to the 
scene ; and the officer, whom Mme, Chapuzi's cry 
had awakened, appeared at the same time on the 
lower story, whence he hastened to ascend to learn 
what was the occasion of the noise, for the stairs 
were still in partial darkness, which did not allow 
him to determine at a distance what was happen- 
ing. 

The ex-revenue-officer had left his apartment, 
and was supporting his wife, to whom he at first 
thought some accident had happened. 

‘‘This mantis dead!” exclaimed the captain, 
who, having promptly recovered from his excite- 
ment, leaned over the body, and opened the cloth- 
ing. 

“Dead 1 ” repeated the horrified spectators. 

“ A long while : he is already cold,” affirmed 
M. Martin. “ He was murdered.” 


8 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARIO T. 


** Murdered ! ’’ cried M. and Mme. Bernier. 

‘‘ And by two great cuts of a knife : look ! ” 

The body, with one foot caught in the banister 
of the stairs, was lying on its left side, with its 
head on the last step. 

On the right side of the neck was a wound 
which did not appear to be deep, but from which 
the blood had flowed profusely, although the ca- 
rotid artery had not been touched ; and the captain 
perceived, on gently raising the head, the horn- 
handle of a knife protruding from his garments, 
and whose blade had been plunged so far into his 
left side, in the region of the abdomen, that it was 
entirely out of sight. 


AN UNKNOWN CORPSE, 


9 


CHAPTER II. 

AN UNKNOWN CORPSE. 

This corpse was that of a gray-haired man, 
about sixty years old, of medium height, rather 
stout, and dressed like a well-to-do bourgeois. 

The concierge and wife, on beholding him, 
looked at each other with terror. 

The old man was entirely unknown to them, as 
well as to the captain and the members of the 
Chapuzi household. They were sure that they 
admitted no one on the previous night but the 
postal-clerk, who returned at about eleven o’clock, 
after having made himself known as usual. 

‘‘ What is the matter } ” asked at this moment 
a sweet voice, which Mother Bernier recognized 
as that of the sister of charity who was attending 
Mme. Bernard. 

The evening before, for the first time for five 
days, this holy woman went to her convent to 
sleep, and was now hastening back to learn how 
her patient had passed the night. M. Martin 
quickly informed the sister of what had happened, 
and advised her not to speak of it to Mme. Ber- 
nard, in order to spare her a shock that might be 
dangerous to her; then, addressing Bernier, said, — 


lO NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

** Run and tell the police-commissioner, while I 
go up to M. Tissot's room to ask him if he did not 
accidentally leave the street-door open, on return- 
ing last night/' 

‘'That is it," exclaimed the concierge in a falter- 
ing voice ; " but what shall we do with this mur- 
dered man ? " 

"We will do nothing till the arrival of the com- 
missioner." 

M. Chapuzi had carried away his wife, who, 
being seized with a violent nervous attack, was 
again shrieking ; and the sister of charity had gone 
up to Mme. Bernard’s room. 

Bernier hastily put on a coat to fulfil the cap- 
tain’s orders ; and his wife went down to the office, 
where she sank on a chair, asking herself whether 
she were dreaming or really awake. 

Five minutes later the officer came to tell her 
that the postal-clerk was not at home. 

"Are you sure ? ’’ asked the concieige wildly. 

"His key was not under his mat, where he 
usually puts it, but in the lock. I entered his 
room, and found that his bed had not been oc- 
cupied." 

" That is not possible ! I opened the door to 
him myself last night." 

"You may have opened it to some other person 
or persons." 

" Sapristi ! What a terrible affair it is ! " 

Twenty minutes later Bernier brought back the 
police-commissioner of the district, M. Meslin, a 


AN UNKNOWN CORPSE. 


II 


man justly respected by his chief for his char- 
acter and skill. He was a magistrate who knew 
how to fulfil his delicate duties without brutality 
or exaggerated zeal, and without those vexations 
of official formalities to which is certainly charge- 
able any permanent opposition in France to legal 
authority. 

M. Meslin at first notified the crown-attorney ; 
then, while awaiting his orders, he hastened to the 
Rue Marlot, thinking that immediate identification 
might be necessary, and fearing that, on account 
of the early morning hour, one of the magistrates 
of the court might not be sent at once to the 
place. 

He came with his secretary, and the physician 
to whose skill he had recourse in similar cases. 

Once in the house, the commissioner’s first care 
was to order the concierge to close his door, and 
not to open it to any one except the clerk of the 
court, and to allow no one to enter or leave, under 
any pretext whatever. 

The affair was still unknown to the neighbors ; 
for Bernier, who was not naturally loquacious, took 
care not. to speak of it. Up to this time that day 
he was the only inmate of No. 13 who had set 
foot in the street. 

M. Meslin and the doctor immediately proceeded 
to the second story ; and, when the physician had 
officially declared that it was a corpse there before 
him, he turned the dead man over on his back, 
drew the knife from the wound, and opened his 
garments. 


12 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


He then recognized that the unhappy man had 
been struck with such force that the weapon had 
penetrated its whole length, nearly twenty centi- 
metres into the left side of the groin. 

The femoral artery must have been cut, yet the 
hemorrhage had not been so profuse as is usually 
produced by these horrible wounds. 

This examination being concluded by the physi- 
cian, whose only duty was to prove the death, the 
police-commissioner, who had taken notes of the 
position of the body before it had been moved, in 
order to give its exact position in his report, — the 
police-commissioner, we repeat, searched the pock- 
ets of the unknown man, hoping to discover papers 
which might give information about his identity. 
But he found nothing. The old man had neither 
letters nor papers about him, nor any document of 
a nature to make him known. 

It was, however, improbable that he had been 
the victim of a theft ; for his porte-monnaie con- 
tained nearly two hundred francs in gold and a 
few silver pieces. Besides, his watch, whose crys- 
tal was broken, hung down by his side on a heavy 
chain from one of the button-holes of his waist- 
coat. 

M. Meslin observed that the watch had stopped 
at thirty-five minutes past midnight, and he logic- 
ally concluded that it was the hour when the un- 
known man was struck down. 

The doctor was of the same opinion. Death 
must have been sudden, and in his judgment the 
man had been dead six or seven hours. 


AN UNKNOWN CORPSE, 


13 


Mme. Bernier affirmed, however, that it was an 
hour earlier in the night when she admitted the 
man whom, owing to the agreed signal having 
been given, she had taken to be the postal-clerk. 
She thought that it must have been about half-past 
eleven when she opened the door. 

As for the captain and M. Chapuzi, they could 
say even less; since they saw the corpse only after 
being attracted to the stairs by the cries of the 
lodger on the second story and the calls of the con- 
cierge for help. 

It only remained to question Mme. Bernard and 
the postal-clerk. As regards the former, the police- 
commissioner immediately understood that he 
could not question her in her feeble condition : 
besides, what information could she give ? He 
simply begged the sister of charity who was watch- 
ing with the sick lady to ask her in some indirect 
way if she heard any thing unusual during the 
night. 

The young mother answered that she fell asleep 
early, immediately after Mme. Bernier’s evening 
visit, and that she awoke only a few moments 
before the arrival of her nurse. 

Besides, the apartments of No. 13 were so situ- 
ated, that, when the lodgers had once entered their 
sleeping-rooms, they heard nothing of what oc- 
curred on the stairs. 

These apartments comprised an entry running 
parallel to a dining-room, and leading to a parlor, 
beyond which was the third room. 


14 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


As for M. Tissot, it only remained to learn if 
his duties had actually kept him at his office or 
away from Paris. Nothing was easier th^n to 
prove this. M. Meslin ordered his secretary to 
hasten to the post-office authorities to obtain ne- 
cessary information, and at the same time to pro- 
cure two men and a bier to remove the corpse. 
Without delaying longer, he stepped over the 
corpse, and ascended the stairs, escorted by Capt. 
Martin and Bernier. 

As the assassin might/Still be in the house, and 
as all the noise since discovering the dead might 
drive him to some extreme measure of defence, 
the commissioner loaded his revolver, and the old 
officer, who made but one leap towards the armory 
of weapons which adorned his parlor, returned 
with an old regulation sabre. 

Having reached the third story, and proceed- 
ing to creep noiselessly along in order not to at- 
tract Mme. Bernard’s notice, M. Meslin suddenly 
stopped to point out to his companions a bloody 
mark on the wall, about as far up as the height of 
a man, and in the middle of the landing. 

It was easy to discover in this impress the form 
of a hand. Two fingers, in particular, were dis- 
tinctly defined. 

Did the victim, already wounded, and fleeing 
from his murderer, leave there that trace while 
supporting himself by the wall } Or was it, on 
the contrary, that of the assassin, who, in order to 
hold back his victim with more force, had planted 


AN UNKNOWN CORPSE, 


15 


his hand against the wall, his hand already stained 
with the blood flowing from the first wound given 
the murdered man ? 

More than this, a large cloak of waterproof 
material, which Bernier recognized as belonging 
to Mme. Bernard, was lying on the floor, instead 
of hanging on the rack as the evening before. 

Mme. Bernard had lent this garment to Mother 
Bernier two days previous, when it rained ; and 
the co7iciergey before returning it to her lodger, had 
hung it on the rack to dry. 

M. Martin remembered perfectly having seen 
this article on the floor, when, a few moments 
after the discovery of the corpse, he went up to 
M. Tissot’s room. 

In the opinion of the commissioner, there was 
no doubt : it was there, on the landing of the third 
story, that the struggle took place. Yet there 
could not be found a single spot of blood on the 
.floor or wall ; nothing but this impress of a hand. 

Having made these observations, the little party 
continued to ascend to the fourth story. 

We have said that there the floor was divided 
into two parts ; one being the postal-clerk's apart- 
ment, the other a store-room. 

After having requested the captain to watch the 
door of the store-room, the commissioner and 
Bernier entered M. Tissot’s room ; but they dis- 
covered nothing of interest bearing on the occur- 
rence, in the two rooms which comprised his 
apartments. They were deserted, the windows 


1 6 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

were fastened from the inside, and the chimneys 
were found too narrow for even a child to force a 
passage through. Every thing was in order ; and 
there was no appearance of any one's having 
entered the rooms. 

The bed in the second room had evidently not 
been slept in, and the only thing to attract notice 
was a chair which had been placed sideways 
against M. Tissot's work-table, as if it had been 
suddenly left by the person who had occupied it. 
In short, several piles of papers which the postal- 
clerk had been in the habit of arranging syste- 
matically seemed somewhat scattered about, and 
one of the sheets had fluttered to the floor. 

This was all ; and it seemed so certain that 
every thing was in the same position in which the 
absent lodger had left them that the police-commis- 
sioner took no further interest in these surround- 
ings. 

It was equally probable that M. Tissot himself 
forgot to lock his door, and to slip the key under 
his mat, as was his custom. 

The important fact was, that there was no one 
in his rooms. 

The search in the store-room gave no better 
result. There, also, the commissioner discovered 
no one, nor any thing suspicious. The small win- 
dow which lighted this room had not been opened 
for a long time. There was no fireplace, no sky- 
light, and no passage by which a human being 
could get outside of the house. 


AN UNKNOWN CORPSE. 


17 


The top of the staircase was well lighted by a 
window, a part of which was movable ; but a lad- 
der would have been necessary to reach it, and 
there was not one in the house. 

All this being proved, the commissioner, with 
those who accompanied him, descended to the 
ground-floor. 

There he found the secretary, who had fulfilled 
his orders. They assured him at the post-office 
that M. Tissot was on duty the night before, on 
the line from Paris to Bordeaux, and that he 
would not return till the next day. The secre- 
tary had not forgotten to bring back with him a 
bier and two porters. A few moments later there 
was another knock at the door. Bernier has- 
tened to open it to admit those who might be 
there. 

The new-comer was one of the assistants of the 
crown-attorney, accompanied by his clerk. 

M. Meslin acquainted the member of the court 
with what had happened and what he had done, 
and then led him through the places already vis- 
ited. 

‘‘You have done very well,’’ said the magistrate * 
to the commissioner, on returning to Bernier’s 
quarters. “You have nothing further to do but 
to send the body to the Morgue, and send me 
your report with the articles in evidence. I will 
immediately confer with the crown-attorney on 
this affair.” And, without prolonging his visit, 
the substitute took leave. 


1 8 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

•While these last incidents were occurring, the 
doctor drew up his report, one of the briefest, 
however, for it was, properly speaking, only a cer- 
tificate of death ; and while they were carrying 
down the body, and placing it on the bier, M. Mes- 
lin filled out a printed blank which he drew from 
his wallet. 

It was an order of conveyance to the Morgue, 
a formidable and dismal looking document, and 
which, when the blanks were filled in, read as fol- 
lows : — 

ORDER FOR THE RECEPTION OF A CORPSE 
AT THE MORGUE IN PARIS. 

We, Robert Louis Meslin, commissioner of police of the 
city of Paris, being specially charged with superintendence 
of the Arsenal district, order the clerk of the Morgue to 
receive a corpse of masculine sex, having the appearance of 
being sixty years old ; figure, i metre 64 centimetres, gray 
hair, protruding forehead, light brown eyebrows, blue eyes, 
ordinary nose, middling-sized mouth, round face. 

“ Particular marks : two wounds, one on the right side of 
the neck, the other in the left groin. 

“ Dressed in pants and waistcoat of black cloth and a 
maroon overcoat, black cravat, leather boots with double 
soles, and the linen bears the initials L. R. 

“ All being as stated in our official report of March 4, 
18 — , addressed the same day to the prefecture of police 
and to the crown-attorney. 

“ The clerk of the Morgue will give a receipt for the 
corpse and the effects above enumerated to the appointed 
Pierre Leroux and Jean Bourgeois, the bearers, charged with 
the transport. 

“ Executed at our office, March 4, 18 — . 

Police Commissioner R. Meslin.’* 


AN UNKNOWN CORPSE, 


19 


M. Meslin gave this order to the two men, 
wrapped the blood-stained knife in a newspaper 
together with the money, two or three keys, and 
the jewels found on the stranger, and after hav- 
ing advised Bernier, as well as his wife, to watch 
every individual who might come to the house to 
learn the details about the night’s event, he left, 
accompanied by his secretary and the doctor. 

A few moments later, the bier, tightly closed 
and containing the dead, was carried across the 
threshold of No. 13, which again assumed, but 
only in appearance of course, its usual quiet 
aspect. 

Bernier and Martin, notwithstanding their en- 
ergy, were greatly upset by this tragedy in which 
they were indirectly concerned. 

As for the good Mme. Bernier, and M. Chapuzi 
and wife, they were very much frightened. 

The ex-revenue clerk trembled in every limb at 
the idea of appearing before the examining magis- 
trate, and later before the court of assizes, if they 
arrested the assassin ; and, if he had not been so 
entirely beyond suspicion, one might have easily 
taken him for the guilty one. 

In one apartment alone, that of Mme. Bernard, 
every thing was in the same state as on the even- 
ing before. 

The young woman attached no importance to' 
the questions asked her by her nurse ; she sus- 
pected nothing of what had happened the preced- 
ing night, a few steps from her room ; and being 


20 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


Still obliged to keep her bed, for she was very 
weak, she was nursing her child, while looking at 
her tenderly with tearful eyes. 

Although her features were worn, Mme. Ber- 
nard was very beautiful. It was easy to divine by 
the sad expression of her countenance, that she 
suffered more from great sorrows than from physi- 
cal pain. 

The worthy sister of charity tried to give her 
courage by her kind words ; but the patient could 
not restrain her tears, which coursed slowly down 
her emaciated cheeks, and fell on the face of the 
babe she pressed to her bosom. 

One would have said the poor mother was bap- 
tizing her daughter with her tears. 

Outside, in the street, the excitement was no 
less than inside of No. 13. 

The arrival of the bier, its exit, and the care 
with which the door was kept locked, had been 
remarked by the neighbors. Without knowing 
exactly what had happened in* the little house that 
was usually so quiet, they inferred that it had sud- 
denly become the scene of some tragedy. 

An hour later, without any one being able to 
point out who told the fact, and just as every mys- 
terious event, strange to say, is secretly communi- 
cated, the whole district knew that an unknown 
man, stabbed to death by two thrusts of a knife, 
had been found on the landing of the floor occu- 
pied by the Chapuzi family ; and regardless of 
Bernier’s entreaties, regardless of the two detec- 


AN UNKNOWN CORPSE. 


21 


tives whom the police-commissioner sent to the 
Rue Marlot, the crowds of curious people did not 
disperse, but constantly increased. 

At noon they were still before the house. 

All wished to learn the details, and the boldest 
tried to enter the house ; but the concierge refused 
admittance. Every ruse to enter was thwarted by 
his vigilance. 

Mother Bernier carefully drew down the cur- 
tains of her window so that no indiscreet eyes in 
the street might peer into her office, where, how- 
ever, there was nothing interesting to be seen. 


22 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


CHAPTER III. 

WILLIAM DOW APPEARS IN ORDER TO TAKE ^HE 

READERS OF THIS STORY TO WALK AMID HORRI- 
BLE SIGHTS. 

Some of these curious persons were servants 
and travellers from Hotel du Dauphin. Among 
the latter was a man about thirty years old, with 
a remarkably intelligent and earnest face, who lis- 
tened and looked on without asking any questions. 

He was either an American or an Englishman ; 
his nationality being betrayed by the cut of his 
beard, the style of his garments, and his walk. 

He had been in Paris hardly a month, and regis- 
tered his name at the hotel as William Dow.’' 
He occupied a small room on the first story, front- 
ing the street. 

No one knew why he had come to France. 
Nothing in his ways or relations with others gave 
the proprietor of his hotel any knowledge of him. 
He received neither letters nor visits, and was 
sometimes absent for days and nights ; but as he 
never returned intoxicated, paid for every thing 
without discussing the price and without stopping 
to prove the correctness of his bill every week, 
and never complained of the service, his landlord, 


WILLIAM DOW APPEARS. 


23 


understanding that he could not ask more^finally 
ceased to disturb himself about his mysterious 
lodger. 

William Dow, who had not left his hotel till 
after breakfast, although he returned early the 
evening before, walked among the groups of peo- 
ple standing in front of No. 13, and had been 
there some moments when he heard one of the 
speakers, who pretended to have his information 
from the secretary of the police-commissioner, say 
that the victim of the previous evening’s tragedy 
was an unknown man about sixty years old, that 
the very knife with which he was killed was found 
in the wound, and that the corpse was exposed at 
the Morgue. 

These details seemed to awaken a sudden idea 
in the mind of the American ; for a strange smile 
played around his lips, and he returned to Hotel 
du Dauphin, where, after casting a rapid glance 
around the concierge s office, at the rack where 
the travellers placed the keys of their rooms, he 
ascended to his apartment, the door of which he 
closed behind him. 

This apartment included two rooms, first a par- 
lor, then a sleeping-room, which was separated 
from the next room only by a thin partition, in 
which there was a door, never used, or rather it 
was fastened on either side by bolts. 

In order to more completely isolate these two 
apartments, strips of paper had been pasted over 
the joints of this door of communication. 


24 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE M A RIOT. 


William Dow approached noiselessly, and raised 
one of these strips which near the hinges per- 
mitted an unobstructed view of the room. He 
looked around it from one end to the other, and 
listened attentively. What he discovered coin- 
cided, no doubt, with the thought which had taken 
possession of his mind a few moments before ; for 
he still wore the same smile, and, without continu- 
ing his observations, went down-stairs again, and 
left the hotel, and proceeded to the Place Royale. 

When he arrived there he took a carriage, and 
^ave an address to the coachman which caused 
the man to start with surprise. 

The stranger told the driver to take him to the 
Morgue. 

Ten minutes later, William Dow crossed the 
threshold of this dismal place, and mingled with 
the crowd who were examining, through the broad 
window of the exhibition-room, the dead bodies 
lying on their stone beds. 

There on inclined planes, in full view of the 
public, were bloated drowned corpses, already as- 
suming a greenish tinge, a young woman whose 
head had been crushed in the trenches of the for- 
tifications, a child that had been run over by a 
cart, and various unknown persons, as naked as 
decency would permit, on whom a stream of water 
was playing. Their clothing was hung above 
them, that relatives or friends might recognize 
them in spite of the wounds and the decomposi- 
tion of the bodies. 


WILLIAM DOW APPEARS. 


25 


Mr. Dow cast a rapid glance over these sad 
remains ; but no doubt the one he sought was not 
there, for he immediately went to a door on the 
left, on which was the sign : Clerk's Office. 

A man seated near the door, to prevent the 
public from entering, opened it to the American, 
who found himself in an office very neatly kept, 
carefully shut in, properly heated, and almost ele- 
gant, and which made an odd and striking contrast 
to the frightful place he had just left. 

Three clerks were leaning silently over their 
desks, and writing in large registers with green 
covers. 

“ Can I see the clerk ? ” asked William Dow to 
one of the busy men. 

‘‘ I am he, ^r,'' answered a voice from behind a 
large piece of mahogany furniture that would not 
have dishonored a notary’s office. 

The American approached him. 

The clerk was a man about fifty years old, with 
a gentle, placid face, encircled by the customary 
beard, and wore a frockcoat and waistcoat of some 
dark color, with a black cravat ornamented with a 
big cameo. 

One might meet the same style of man in a 
lawyer’s office as in the Morgue. 

He was a government officer from head to foot. 

He responded gravely to the American’s bow by 
raising his Greek cap ornamented with a gold tas- 
sel ; then turned a questioning look upon him. 

‘‘Sir,” said the stranger, “have you not this 


^26 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


morning received from the neighborhood of the 
Arsenal the body of a man who has been assas- 
sinated ? ” 

‘'I do not know, sir, if” — 

Oh ! my question cannot be improper,” inter- 
rupted the visitor, smiling at the official tone which 
the functionary had taken; “for, the identity of 
the unfortunate man not having been proved, you 
will probably expose the corpse. Now, I think I 
could give you some useful information. It may 
be that I know him. Here is my card, and also a 
permit to visit the Morgue. I did not think I 
should so soon make use of it.” 

After having read the name engraved on the 
small piece of pasteboard presented to him, and 
assuring himself that permission to enter the 
reserved halls of his gloomy domain was author- 
ized, the clerk stared at William Dow for a few 
moments with an expression of curiosity ; then, 
rising, said, — 

‘‘ It is all right, sir; have the kindness to follow 
me. I will show you the unknown man found this 
morning.” 

He at the same time rang for a watchman, who 
the next moment appeared at the door which led 
from the office to the interior of the Morgue. 

This man was hardly twenty-five years old, 
square-shouldered and thick-set, with an expres- 
sion which was at once timid and animal-like, and 
he looked sideways from under his quivering eyelids. 
One would have said, that, not daring to look 


WILLIAM DOW APPEARS. 


27 


steadily at the corpses confided to his care, he ac- 
quired the habit of never looking any one in the 
face. 

He was bareheaded, and his thick locks hung 
wildly over his eyebrows. His suit was a kind of 
gray uniform, perhaps cut out from the hospital- 
cloak of some corpse. He was one ot the two 
overseers of the Morgue. 

Twenty-four hours out of the forty-eight, he 
passed the day and night alone with his dumb and 
disfigured guests. Having completed his tour as 
watcher, he was free to go and see his wife and 
children, provided that he returned punctually to 
his dead the next day. 

What kind of thoughts would be likely to pass 
through the mind of the wretched fellow } Hap- 
pily none, perhaps^. With his big bunch of keys 
in his hand, he walked on like an automaton, an- 
swering only in monosyllables. 

There was something in him of both jailer and 
grave-digger, without the brutality of the former 
and the sinister gayety of the latter ; for there was 
no living being at the Morgue to treat rudely, and 
the clerk would certainly not suffer the least mur- 
mur of a refrain, admitting the improbable case 
of one ever rising to the lips of his subalterns. 

Once outside of his office, the clerk made a sign ; 
and, after opening a door at the end of a little 
entry, the man on watch drew aside to let his 
chief and the stranger pass. 

William Dow perceived that he was in the room 


28 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


where autopsies were held : it was paved, and had 
an arched ceiling, and was lighted by two broad 
half-windows six feet from the floor. 

It might have been taken for a large prison-cell, 
had it not been for two strange tables which oc- 
cupied each side. One of them, made of zinc, 
might easily have been mistaken for a large count- 
er of a wine-merchant, but for a hole at each end 
communicating by a tube to a tin-pail. The other 
had all the appearance of an enormous gridiron. 

To a man less expert in such matters than 
Mr. Dow seemed to be, the clerk would have 
quickly explained that the autopsies were made on 
these metal beds ; but he judged, no doubt, that all 
details were useless, for he merely said that the 
second was no longer used. 

It was, however, the invention of a celebrated 
physician, who thought that by establishitig a cur- 
rent of warm air under the body to be examined, 
the emanations would be less dangerous to the 
operator; but another member of the profession 
substituted something else, and, justly or unjustly, 
the gridiron was left to rust and to its horrible 
souvenirs. 

The other table was bright and shining, and 
almost new, but was unoccupied. 

"'The medical examiner, who has charge of the 
autopsy of an individual supposed to . be the vic- 
tim of an assassination,” the American suddenly 
asked, " certainly profits by this occasion to bring 
in one of his pupils, in order to give him a lesson 
in anatomy } ” 


WILLIAM DOW APPEARS, 


29 


‘‘Never, sir, never,’' answered the clerk with 
dignity : “ the autopsies, especially those that are 
ordered by the law, are strictly secret operations. 
The doctor or doctors delegated, for sometimes 
there are two of them, cannot even be accompanied 
by one of the profession. On these particular 
days, which are rare fortunately, I send for my 
second watchman, and these two men of mine 
alone serve as aids to the operators. This is what 
will be done to-morrow, for the unfortunate man 
in question will then probably be examined. I 
believe that even I will be forbidden to enter the 
room. You must know how irriportant it is that 
the result of the autopsy be not divulged. The 
guilty might make use of the opportunity to shield 
themselves.” 

“ That is true, sir. I did not consider the dan- 
ger.” 

“ Are the gentlemen here ^ ” asked the manager 
of the Morgue, addressing one of the watchmen. 

The latter said Yes, with his head rather than 
with his voice. 

“ Let us go on, then,” added the clerk, turning 
to the stranger. “ I am forced to have you present 
at a spectacle probably new to you ; only we must 
first cross several halls, not very pleasant to visit. 
If it disturbs you, however, we can go another 
way.” 

“ I do not mind it in the least, sir, not in the 
least,” answered the American with his usual cool- 
ness ; “ only I reproach myself for taking your 
time.” 


30 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


The clerk raised his velvet cap to thank his 
visitor for his politeness, and preceded him to a 
neighboring room, the custodian of which had 
just opened the door. 

It was a room exactly like the one preceding in 
point of construction, but was longer ; and on the 
right and left, even with the floor and with heads 
to the wall, like beds in a dormitory, were seven 
great zinc chests, somewhat inclined, and closed 
by convex lids which opened on the sides. 

‘‘This is the hall where the bodies are kept 
under cover,” said the obliging cicerone, who, rais- 
ing the lid of one of the chests, showed William 
Dow a body stretched out in this metal case, — a 
body, which, although it had been there several 
days, was in a perfect state of preservation, owing 
to the stream of disinfecting water which, coming 
from a reservoir for the supply of the whole estab- 
lishment, watered it from head to foot. 

“ Formerly,” continued the clerk with compla- 
cency and a certain pride, “ all the corpses were 
exposed uncovered ; but it was a painful spectacle 
to those who came to recognize a relative or 
friend. This I told to the learned Dr. Devergie, 
and the Morgue owes this important improve- 
ment to him. The corpses being numbered, thanks 
to this invention we have only to open the chest 
containing the one asked for. They remain here, 
after being recognized, till the moment of burial ; 
but, as you pereeive, there is no disagreeable odor.” 

This was true. It was only damp and cold in 


WILLIAM DOW APPEARS, 


31 


this room. When these zinc cases were closed, 
one might believe himself in quite another place, 
provided, however, that he did not observe, as did 
William Dow on, leaving, a child a day or two old, 
placed along the wall, waiting, with little clinched 
fists and folded limbs., till science should pronounce 
whether it had been brought into the world living 
or dead. 

On leaving this horrible place of exhibition, the 
clerk and the visitor crossed the lavatory, then 
the drying-room, places where the garments of 
the corpses are carefully dried and hung up till 
they take their place in the cloak-room, and at last 
reach their final destination, the hall of arrival 
and departure. 

This hall opens on the uncovered passage that 
runs the length of the establishment, and along 
which the bodies are conveyed, after being admit- 
ted by one of the gates on the right or left, accord- 
ing to the district from which they were sent. 

The double door of this room was wide open, 
and a bright ray of sunlight entered and played 
on an uncovered bier where the dead rested in his 
last sleep under a layer of sawdust. 

On the threshold of this door, facing out of 
doors and opposite a photographic apparatus, was 
a litter on which lay a body whose head had been 
raised by, two large bricks. 

This is an innovation,” said the clerk to the 
stranger. Now, when a dead person is not rec- 
ognized after a certain lapse of time, his picture is 


32 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


taken, in order to bury him without waiting too 
long. When it is the victim of a crime as in the 
present case, and the autopsy is ordered, the unfor- 
tunate man is photographed by the order of the 
court before being delivered to the surgeon ; even 
the prefecture often takes the initiative in this 
operation. This is what happens to-day, for it is 
hardly probable that the affair can already be in 
the hands of the magistrates.” 

'‘That is very ingenious,” answered William 
Dow, in spite of the rather ironical tone in which 
his questioner made these interesting explanations. 

" Pooh ! ” said the latter, "it is used perhaps one 
time out of a thousand.” 

The stranger understood that he had to do with 
one of those officers who are jealous of their 
slightest prerogatives, a personage very common 
in France. 

But though the American thought that the idea 
of photographing the dead was, on the contrary, 
useful in every respect, he had no desire to discuss 
the matter with his guide, and simply answered 
him with one of those movements of the head 
that say yes or no, as one pleases to interpret 
them ; and, foreseeing that he would find the 
object of his search, he approached the bier to 
examine the man who was lying there. 

It was the old man found dead at No. 13. His 
torn pantaloons partially disclosed the terrible 
wound that he received in the abdomen. 

What William Dow observed above all, was that 


WILLIAM DOW APPEARS. 


33 


the features of the unfortunate man preserved the 
expression of indescribable fear. 

During this time the photographers continued 
their work, moving the corpse in first one position, 
then another, and placing it in the best light, in 
order to have as perfect proofs as possible. They 
at least were assured that their model would not 
move. 

Well 1 ” said the clerk to his visitor. 

It is indeed the man I supposed,’* answered 
the latter with the greatest calmness. “To whom 
ought I to make my declaration } ” 

“First to me, sir, then to the police-commis- 
sioner who brought the body.” 

“ But I do not know the name of the dead. I 
only know where he lived ; but it is probable that 
in the room he occupied, some paper will be found 
of a nature to place one on the track to discover 
his identity.” 

“ Then you have only to give the address of this 
room to the police-commissioner, M. Meslin, in 
the Arsenal district.” 

“ I will go to his house. I now must thank 
you, sir, for your courtesy.” 

And, raising his hat, William Dow bowed to the 
clerk, while taking a step towards the door where 
the photographs were kept. 

“Ah ! pardon, sir,” said his guide, stopping him 
with a gesture, “ it is only the dead who enter and 
leave this way : we must go back by the clerk’s 
office. But have no fear : I will not make you 
return the disagreeable way you came.” 


34 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


The American bowed pleasantly, as if to say it 
was all the same to him ; and he seemed to be 
following a new thought. 

The clerk introduced him into the hall which he 
must cross to reach his office. 

It was a square room, whose walls were hidden 
from sight behind innumerable pigeon-hole racks 
filled with garments that were rolled up, tied, and 
labelled. It might have been called a pawn- 
broker’s shop ; only all that was given in exchange 
for these sad rags was a damp and icy bed of 
stone. 

“ This is the cloak-room,” said the manager ; and, 
observing the significant grimace of the stranger 
who had only glanced absently at these rags, he 
added, — 

Ah ! there is no Sunday attire at the Morgue. 
This clothing remains at the disposal of the rela- 
tives or heirs for six months. When this time 
has elapsed, the sale of what is not claimed ac- 
crues to the benefit of the institution.” 

Without caring to hear his further discourse 
concerning the profits falling to the institution in 
this way semi-annually, William Dow hastened on, 
for he desired to get away. 

However, when re-entering the office, he stopped, 
and suddenly said to the clerk as he pointed to the 
custodian, — 

Can I give a louis to this poor devil } ” 

“ Certainly, sir : he has never had such a gift. 
I hope he will carry it home unbroken this even- 


WILLIAM DOW APPEARS. 


35 


ing, for he is not on duty* to-night. The unfortu- 
nate man has four or five children.’' 

He lives in the neighborhood, I suppose } ” 

Not at all : on the contrary, at quite a distance, 
beyond the Italian toll-gate. Rents are too dear 
in this vicinity.” 

‘'You give me permission, then V 
The clerk, that his presence might not embar- 
rass the subordinate, had already opened the door 
of his office. William Dow then quickly ap- 
proached the custodian, and, placing twenty francs 
in his hand, said to him in a low voice, but in a 
manner to be perfectly understood, — 

“You shall have four times as much if you will 
come at nine o’clock this evening to the wine- 
merchant’s on the corner of the Rue Vandrezanne 
and the road to Italy. But mind, not a word of 
this.” 

Confused and astonished, the man could answer 
only with a look. The promised sum was equal 
to the earnings of two months of his wretched 
existence. He had not yet recovered from his 
surprise when the stranger disappeared in the 
clerk’s office. 


36 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


CHAPTER IV. 

M. meslin's hopes. 

Two minutes later, after thanking his obliging 
guide once more, William Dow left the Morgue, 
and re-entered his carriage, ordering his coachman 
to drive him to the police-commissioner’s in the 
Arsenal district. It did not take more than a 
quarter of an hour to traverse this distance. 

The commissioner was in his office. 

At the news that a stranger desired to see him, 
to give him information about the unknown man 
assassinated in the Rue Marlot, he quickly admit- 
ted him. 

“ Sir,” said the American to him, “ I live in 
Hotel du Dauphin, opposite the house where a 
crime was committed last night. This morning I, 
as well as the rest of the inmates, was awakened 
by the noise of the crowd drawn to the spot by 
this affair. I then arose, and went down to the 
street ; and from the details about the age and 
dress of the victim, given by one person and an- 
other, I had a thought that it was some one whom 
I knew. However, as this was only my presump- 
tion, I went to the Morgue, where the body of the 
unfortunate man had been carried by your orders. 


M, MESLIN^S HOPES, 


37 


It had not yet' been exposed; but, after explaining 
to the clerk the object of my visit, I succeeded in 
entering the room whei*b this unknown person had 
been taken, and just as he was being photo- 
graphed/' 

M. Meslin listened to the American without 
taking his eyes from him. 

Being absolutely certain that the murdered man 
had been seen by no one but the inmates of the 
house where he died, and feeling persuaded that 
neither the conciej^ge and wife nor the lodgers in 
that house had examined him long enough to 
remember his features and the color of his gar- 
ments, he could not explain to himself how this 
man before him could, from the mere talk of the 
crowd, conjecture all that he had just told him. 

Influenced by the instincts of a detective, he 
wondered if it were really only chance, and the 
desire to make himself useful, that formed the mo- 
tive for the stranger’s conduct. 

William Dow no doubt understood what was 
passing in the mind of the commissioner ; for with 
the sly, mocking smile that seemed stereotyped on 
his lips, he added without being questioned, — 

‘'This unknown man was indeed the individual 
whom I supposed him to be, and was one of the 
lodgers of the hotel, whom I have met twenty 
times the past month, either on the way to the 
door, or in the dining-hall. I think he even oc- 
cupied a room quite near mine.” 

“You are ignorant of his name ” asked M. 
Meslin in a rather ironical tone. 


38 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

‘'Yes: I have never heard it/' answered the 
American. 

“And would you be kind enough to acquaint 
me with yours } for it might be that the examining 
magistrate would like to question you." 

“ My name is William Dow, and I am an Ameri- 
can." 

“ I thank you, sir. I say the examining ma- 
gistrate, because this affair is already out of my 
hands. The crown-attorney has just let me know 
that it would be followed up by one of the ma- 
gistrates of the court." 

M. Meslin spoke these words with a certain 
bitterness, which plainly expressed to a man as 
observing as the stranger seemed to be, how 
chagrined the commissioner was at seeing taken 
from him an affair that would have permitted him 
to employ all his sagacity. 

William Dow did not appear to have divined 
this feeling, and resumed, — 

“ I shall be at the service of the court as I am 
at yours. If you think that I have rendered you 
the slightest service, I will beg you to render me 
one in return." 

“ What is it, sir ? " 

“I am curious to visit that house." 

“ The one in which the crime was committed ? " 

“Yes." 

M. Meslin could not conceal the astonishment 
the American’s wish caused him ; but he quickly 
answered, however, — 


M. MESLIN'S HOPES, 


39 


. '‘There is no objection to that ; and as it is my 
duty to profit by the information that you have 
just given me, and proceed immediately to Hotel 
du Dauphin to make a search in the traveller’s 
room, we will, if you consent, go there together, 
and afterwards visit the house in the Rue Marlot. 
Allow me first to write a few words, — some or- 
ders, in case any thing new should happen during 
my absence.” 

"Certainly, sir.” 

And, leaning against a chair to which the com- 
missioner pointed, William Dow began to absently 
examine the three or four wretched engravings 
wit^i which M. Meslin’s office was adorned. 

Meanwhile the latter rapidly wrote the following 
lines: — 

"Send at once one of your most skilful agents 
to the Rue Marlot, and let him follow, like his own 
shadow, the man whom he will see come out with 
me from No. 13. He is an individual who calls 
himself William Dow, and lives at Hotel du Dau- 
phin in the above-mentioned street.” 

Then he slipped this note in an envelope with 
this subscription : — 

"To Monsieur Claude, chief of detectives.” 

Having done this, he handed the letter to a mes- 
senger, ordering him to take it at once to its ad- 
dress, told his secretary that he might follow him, 
and, with a smile on his lips, turned to his visitor, 
saying, — 

" I am at your disposal.” 


40 , NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


‘‘ It is I who am at yours, sir,” answered Wil- 
liam Dow. If you wish to make use of my car- 
riage, I shall be happy to offer you a seat in it.” 

‘'You will then permit my secretary to sit on 
the box, for I must take him with me.” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

They left the office ; and after insisting that M. 
Meslin should enter the carriage first, while his 
secretary jumped up beside the coachman, the 
American gave orders where to drive. 

Struck by a vigorous lash of the whip, the horse 
started at a fair trot. 

A few moments later the hack, whose inmates 
had not exchanged a word, stopped before Hotel 
du Dauphin. 

Quite naturally people were still engaged in 
talking of the event of the night before : there- 
fore the arrival of one of the lodgers in company 
with the police-commissioner increased the excite- 
ment of the people who were talking together in 
the concierge s office. 

Notified by one of his waiters, the landlord 
quickly descended to the little parlor where Wil- 
Ham Dow had shown M. Meslin. 

“ Sir,” said the latter without further preamble, 
“ I am the police-commissioner of your district, 
and I have come to search the room of one of 
your lodgers.” 

The landlord turned to the American ; but the 
latter, understanding his mistake, hastened to un- 
deceive him, saying, — 


M, MESLIN^S HOPES, 


41 


No, not my rooms, sir.” 

The hotel-keeper, who felt a spite against his 
mysterious patron for his reserve, thought that he 
was the man referred to, and was congratulating 
himself because of his sharpness. 

‘'No, sir,” confirmed M. Meslin ; “the room 
that I beg you to open is that of one of your 
lodgers, whose absence last night you should have 
stated.” 

“ M. Desrochers } it is true that he has not re- 
turned ; but, as that has happened several times 
since he came to my house, I was not surprised.” 

“Well, M. Desrochers, since that is his name, 
was murdered last night opposite your hotel, in 
No. 13 of this street.” 

“ Is it possible ! ” 

“This gentleman, who knew him by sight, found 
him at the Morgue, where I sent him, since I did 
not know his name or abode.” 

“ Let us tlien go up to his room, commissioner. 
He occupied No. 7.” 

And, with one spring towards the ofifice, he took 
the key of that room ; then he led M. Meslin to 
the first story, and, having opened the door of his 
missing lodger’s room, he drew aside to let the 
magistrate and his secretary enter, while he 
remained respectfully on the threshold of the 
apartment. 

“ Come in, sir,” said the commissioner : “ I must 
make this search in your presence.” 

The hotel-keeper obeyed. , ^ 


42 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

William Dow stopped on the ground-floor, either 
from indifference, or because he did not need to 
enter M. Desrochers’ rooms to learn what M. 
Meslin would discover ; but the latter, who prob- 
ably was determined not to lose sight of the stran- 
ger, called him up, and the man hastened to join 
him. 

This chamber, No. 7, had no particular char- 
acter. All was in order except the bed, on which 
the lodger must have thrown himself dressed ; for 
it preserved the impress of a form, and had not 
been opened. 

On the table were several newspapers, among 
others the Soir of the evening before, and a rail- 
road-guide. 

William Dow examined them attentively, while 
the commissioner hardly looked at them. The 
latter immediately passed on to inspect the com- 
mode, which was open. 

In this piece of furniture there were only linen 
and clothing, but no papers. 

What did you say was the name of the person 
who occupied this room } ” asked M. Meslin of 
the hotel-keeper. 

Desrochers,'' he answered. 

That is not his name probably, for his linen is 
marked L. R." 

It is the name under which he registered." 

Did you not ask him for a passport, letter, or 
some document which might prove that it was 
really his name ? " 


M. MESLIN^S HOPES, 


43 


‘‘No, sir: that is not the custom.” 

“That is wrong, for this requirement is written 
in full in your rules.” . 

The hotel-keeper bowed in apology. 

“ What is this piece of furniture } ” pursued M. 
Meslin, approaching a secretary opposite the com- 
mode. “ It is locked.” 

“It can be opened, sir,” timidly returned the 
landlord of Hotel du Dauphin. 

“ Have you a locksmith in the street ^ 

“One is not necessary.” 

“ Why not } ” 

“ All these pieces of furniture being nearly the 
same, there ought to be a key to the secretary of 
some other room that will open this.” 

“The Devil! Dear M. Tourillon — is not that 
your name } ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, you boast of being at the head of a 
hotel where your lodgers' papers are in perfect 
safety I ” 

The hotel-keeper felt that in trying to show his 
zeal, he had made a silly remark, and he tried to 
repair it, adding, — 

“But I do not assert” — 

“That will do!” interrupted M. Meslin. “Go 
bring me a key, and be sure that it is one that will 
open this secretary. Dorr’t come back swearing 
that you could not find one, for I won’t believe 
you.” 

The unhappy Tourillon went out very much 


44 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


humiliated at being treated in this way before one 
of his lodgers ; but two minutes after he brought 
back the article required. 

During his short absence the commissioner dis- 
covered that the windows were closed, that there 
had been no fire in the fireplace, that no papers 
had been burned in it, and that the door leading 
into the next room had not been opened for a long 
time. 

« The key of another secretary opened this in No. 
7, as if it had been made expressly for this lock ; 
and M. Meslin soon gave a sigh of satisfaction, 
for, in a large portfolio in one of the drawers of 
the secretary, he had discovered a dozen letters. 

Although none of them were in their envelopes, 
they were addressed to M. Desrochers, since they 
bore recent dates, and had been received by him, 
as M. Tourillon remembered ; but the commis- 
sioner did not need to look them through to be 
sure that the name of Desrochers was not that of 
the unknown. Some began with the words, ‘‘ My 
dear Rumigny.'' 

These correspondents — there were two of 
them — advised him to return home, to give up a 
senseless project, "to forget her who had left him, 
to remain calm, and not to run the risk of a dan- 
gerous and disgraceful exposure. 

Only, through some 'fatality, none of these epi& 
ties bore at their head the name of the town ij\ 
which they had been written. It would be neces^ 
sary to search all over France to discover the 
place whence a Rumigny had disappeared. 


M, MESLIN^S HOPES, 


45 


But as this was the affair of the examining ma- 
gistrate, and not his, M. Meslin did not disturb 
himself further about those difficulties from which 
* he had been saved by the crown-attorney's want of 
confidence in his skill. He gathered the letters 
together in a package ; and after ordering his secre- 
tary to wait for the justice of peace, whom he had 
notified before putting the seals on the furniture 
and doors of No. 7, he approached William Dow, 
telling him that he was ready to keep his promise ; 
that is to say, to allow him to visit the scene of 
the crime. 

Perhaps he expected questions to be asked by 
the American, but he asked none. 

William Dow simply bowed politely ; and they 
descended, and both went out, receiving the most 
obsequious bows from poor Tourillon, who appeared 
in a state of utter consternation, for it seemed to 
him that the reputation of Hotel du Dauphin was 
forever compromised. 

The worthy Bernier opened the door in answer 
to M. Meslin’s ring ; but only a crack, so that he 
might shut it quickly in the visitor’s face if it 
were some inquisitive person, such as had present- 
ed themselves without number since morning. 

On recognizing the police-commissioner, he 
excused himself for his allowable caution, and 
admitted him and his companion. 

M. Meslin explained to the concierge what he 
wished, and, beckoning to the stranger to follow 
him, led him immediately to the second story of 
the house. 


46 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

There he explained to him, without omitting 
any detail, in what situation he found the unknown. 
They then ascended to the third story, where he 
called his attention to the bloody hand-marks on 
the wall. They then went on, even as far as M. 
Tissot’s room, where nothing had been disturbed. 

The chair was still turned sideways -against the 
table on which the papers of the postal-clerk were 
scattered. 

‘'You think that the assassin and his victim 
came into this apartment ? ” said William Dow to 
the police-commissioner. 

“ I think nothing about it, on the contrary,” 
answered M. Meslin ; “ but, to make sure, I shall 
wait till M. Tissot returns. He alone could tell 
me if he left his room in the state in which we 
found it, and if he locked his door before leaving.” 

“ Ah ! was his door open ? ” 

“ Yes : now it appears that he usually locks it, 
but leaves the key under the mat.” 

“ I understand that he alone could really give 
you any information. But look ! this postal-clerk 
does not lack a certain degree of talent. Here 
are some sketches that are not badly done.” 

The American, as he said this, called M. Mes- 
lin’s attention to some sheets of paper covered 
with pen-and-ink drawings ; then, leaning over to 
examine them more closely, he perceived five or 
six long gray hairs on the table, and added, — 

“ Is it a young man who lives in this room ? ” 

“ Probably,” answered M. Meslin, “since he is 
on business that requires him to travel.” 


M. MESLIN^S HOPES. 


47 


Thinking that he had shown the stranger all 
that he desired to see, and supposing, too, that he 
had remained in the house long enough for his 
secretary to have followed his instructions, the 
commissioner moved towards the door. 

The American followed him ; and on crossing 
the threshold of the room he observed, on the 
outer casing of the door, about the height of a 
man, a long nail to which was attached an almost 
imperceptible bit of maroon-colored stuff. 

It was on this nail, no 'doubt, that M. Tissot’s 
predecessors, and perhaps M. Tissot himself, hung 
the key of the apartment. 

As M. Meslin walked on first, William Dow could 
get possession of this bit of cloth without being 
seen ; and he joined his guide before he reached 
the third story. 

‘‘Well! any thing new, Bernier asked M. 
Meslin of the conciergey who was waiting for him 
on the ground-floor. 

“No, sir; no,” answered the good man. “Only 
quantities of curious people besieging the house, • 
that is all.” 

“ Don’t let any stranger enter, and be sure and 
send M. Tissot to me as soon as he returns.” 

“ I will not fail to do so, sir.” 

While saying this, Bernier had opened the street- 
door. M. Meslin glanced into the street, and no 
doubt discovered what he sought in the person of 
a workman leaning against a post on the corner 
of the street ; for his face, wfiigh h^d worn an anx,- 


48 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

ious look for a few seconds, suddenly changed its 
expression, and he took leave of the American in 
the most gracious tone in the world, begging him 
not to fail to be at the examining magistrate’s if 
the latter should send for him. 

William Dow promised ; and after an exchange 
of polite formalities they separated, M. Meslin to 
return to his office, and the stranger to enter the 
hotel, where he rushed with almost one bound to 
the window of his room, whose blinds were only 
partly open. 

He returned home with such despatch that from 
this look-out he could detect, between the police- 
commissioner and the workman, one of those in- 
voluntary movernents that always betray those who 
exchange a few words in passing, though they do 
not stop. 

‘‘Ah! you are having me watched,” he mur- 
mured with his sly smile : “ I rather suspected 
it, and now I am certain. Ah ! it is thus you 
thank me for the service I have rendered you, 
Monsieur police-commissioner. Well, the contest 
is between us now. Your suspicions will cost you 
dear” 

M. Meslin, who little suspected that his ruse 
was already exposed, went away rubbing his hands, 
and saying to himself, — 

“Since the crown-attorney did not judge me 
worthy of following up this affair, let his examin- 
ing magistrate clear it up. It may be, however, 
that the incapable De Meslin is the one who fol- 


M, MESLIN^S HOPES, 


49 


lowed the right track. You will have to depend 
on him some day or another.'' 

Five minutes after, the worthy commissioner, 
feeling quite happy at having this subaltern's small 
revenge in prospect, returned to his office, and 
gave his report about the search that he had just 
made at Hotel du Dauphin. 

It is useless to say that this report was not ac- 
companied by any comment, and that there was no 
reference to William Dow other than was ab- 
solutely necessary. 


50 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


CHAPTER V. 

A DISMAL PLACE. 

During this time, feeling jealously eager to 
show himself worthy of the confidence of his 
chief, and desirous of earning a new badge of 
honor, the detective kept close watch on the 
American. 

This spy was a little thin, lean man, sound in 
the legs, sly and bold,'and perfectly constituted in 
moral and physical qualities for the profession that 
he followed ; a dangerous profession, for it some- 
times happens, that, knowing themselves tracked, 
malefactors draw their spies on into some totally 
deserted place, to afterwards turn upon them, as 
the boar on the hounds, and rid themselves of 
them. 

But Picot (for that was his name) had till then 
escaped every ambush, and had unlimited faith in 
his star. 

He took up his post thirty steps from the hotel, 
at the corner of the street. He did not remain 
motionless, however, but walked up and down 
without losing sight of the door of the establish- " 
ment. 

He had already been there ^nearly an hour, when ' 


A DISMAL PLACE, 


51 


William Dow, who knew what to expect, came out, 
and went towards the boulevards, where he walked 
a long time, loitering like a stranger who has 
nothing better to do. 

At seven o'clock Picot saw him enter Brebant's, 
seat himself at one of the tables on the first floor, 
and order his dinner with all the thought given to 
this important affair by a man endowed with a 
sound stomach, and to whom a long walk has given 
an appetite. 

Judging logically that the man whom he was 
appointed to watch would be there some time 
before stirring, the agent went off to take a hurried 
repast at a wine-merchant’s in the Rue Montmartre. 
When he returned to his post about twenty min- 
utes afterwards, William Dow had, in fact, reached 
only the second course. 

Still remaining very patient. Master Picot bought 
a newspaper, and, stationing himself near a kiosk, 
began to read with one eye, while he watched with 
the other. 

This lasted nearly a whole hour ; and the detec- 
tive had long finished his reading, when the Amer- 
ican finally decided to ask for his bill. 

When he received it, he examined it like a prac- 
tical man, appeared satisfied, and paid it, then sud- 
denly looked at his watch, and, as if he feared 
being late, hastily left the restaurant to jump into 
a carriage, giving his address to the coachman. 

Picot had orders and carte-bla7tche : he sprang 
into another hack, and, after ordering his driver to 


52 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


follow that of the stranger at a short distance off, 
he made this reflection, which proved a certain 
talent for observation on his part : — 

‘‘If my man were to enter his house to go to 
bed for good, he would not be in a hurry. He 
is either going to join some one, or he will come 
out again.'’ 

Therefore a quarter of an hour later the detec- 
tive, full of confidence, alighted from his carriage 
at the entrance to the Rue Marlot, while that of 
the stranger pursued its course to the Hotel du 
Dauphin. 

“ I have guessed right,” thought the spy, who 
had set foot on ground, and was watching in the 
recess of a door. “ He does not pay his coach- 
man : he will come down again.” 

At the end of five minutes, in fact, William Dow 
entered his carriage again. 

Picot ran to his ; and the two hacks, one follow- 
ing the other at a distance apart, reached the Rue 
Saint-Antoine, crossed the Place de la Bastille, 
proceeded along the Quai Henry IV., and past 
the Austerlitz Bridge, to ascend at a walking pace 
the Boulevard de I’HSpital. 

“First-rate!” thought Picot: “we are really 
going on a journey. How glad M. Meslin will 
be!” 

And, after filling his pipe, he gleefully rubbed 
his hands while stretching himself out like a syb- 
arite on the leather cushions of his hired convey- 
ance. 


A DISMAL PLACE. 


53 


The two carriages thus reached the Italian toll- 
gate, which they crossed, and the horses went 
along the main street at a trot ; then, just as the 
detective was wondering if this interminable drive 
would ever end, his coachman, who had his 
instructions, stopped.’ 

The American’s hack had just stopped thirty 
steps ahead. 

Picot sprang to the ground, and at first thought 
that he had followed a wrong track ; the individ- 
ual who had just alighted from the pursued car- 
riage no longer resembled, in appearance at least, 
the man whom he saw enter it at the Rue Marlot. 
He wore a soft hat and a workman’s thick jacket. 

Feeling rather disturbed, the detective hastened 
to pass the stranger, in order to plant himself 
before a gas-jet, while pretending to light his 
pipe. 

William Dow, who appeared not to mistrust 
any one, advanced slowly. 

Picot recognized him at once, although his hat 
came down over his eyes, and the collar of his 
jacket concealed the lower part of his face. 

‘‘Very well,” murmured the spy, who loved to 
explain matters to himself, “ very well ! we have 
made this little change while in the hack. We 
had this soft hat in our pocket, and a long frock- 
coat over the other. We did not wish that the 
people in the hotel should see us disguised. It is 
certain that in this dress we are not going to the 
prefect’s.” 


54 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


While making these reflections, Picot followed 
his man, whom he saw suddenly disappear in the 
back-shop of a wine-merchant, on the corner of 
the Rue Vandrezanne. 

This back-shop was a small room furnished with 
half a dozen tables, around which the workmen 
of the neighborhood seated themselves at meal- 
times. 

In the evening it was almost always unoccupied, 
especially after nine o’clock, its usual frequenters 
being men who, rising very early, did not keep late 
hours. 

The two windows that lighted it opened on the 
Rue Vandrezanne. 

On fixing his eyes on one of them, Picot espied 
the American, who was approaching an individual 
whose face he could not see, for his back was 
turned to him, and who on William Dow’s arrival 
quickly removed his pipe from his mouth. 

The detective would have liked to hear the con- 
versation of these two men, but he would have 
been obliged to enter the wine-shop for that. He 
could not think of this : in the first place, because 
it would have given the man whom he was watch- 
ing an opportunity to see him face to face, and 
consequently recognize him some day or another ; 
next because, of course, the two men who were 
talking together would not have failed, on the 
entrance of a new-comer, to speak low, or even to 
leave. 

M. Meslin’s emissary resigned himself then to 


A DISMAL PLACE. 


55 


wait, free to act according to circumstances and 
inspiration when the two personages who inter- 
ested him should separate. "" 

He contented himself with losing none of their 
movements, which was easy for him to do without 
running the risk of being discovered ; for the street 
was deserted and rather dark, and William Dow, 
after ordering a bottle of wine and two glasses, 
also seated himself, back to the window, at the 
same table, quite near the man who seemed to be 
awaiting him. 

It was then that Picot saw the American give 
several pieces of money to the stranger, who 
slipped them quickly into his pocket. 

Was this money the wages of a bargain, or the 
payment of a service } 

To learn this, let us leave the detective at his 
post, and enter the wine-shop. 

It was really the custodian of the Morgue, whom 
William Dow found there, faithful to his appoint- 
ment. At first, after seating himself near him, 
he gave him the four louis promised, saying to 
him, — 

‘^This is for your promptness ; now let us talk.” 

The man, feeling quite moved at this good for- 
tune, on which he hardly counted, made a sign 
that he was listening. 

How much do you earn a month ? ” asked the 
stranger. 

Eighty francs, sir,” answered the poor fellow, 
surprised at this question. 


56 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

“To be on duty every other day? 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Would you like to earn at one operation more 
than a year’s wages ? ” 

The man thought he did not hear aright, and 
William Dow repeated his question. 

“ What can I do ? ” he said, turning pale. 

“ In the first place please tell me, are you alone 
on watch at night at the Morgue ? ” 

“Entirely alone, sir.” 

“What if a body should arrive when the clerk’s 
office is closed ? ” 

“It is I who give a receipt for it to. the porters.” 

“To-morrow they are to make an autopsy on 
the old man brought there this morning ? ” 

“To-morrow at ten o’clock, the clerk told me 
that I must be there.” 

“ Yes : I know the medical examiner is only to 
be aided by you and your companion. What do 
they do with the body after the autopsy ? ” 

“ They generally leave it on the table all day, in 
case the doctor should need to examine it again ; 
and in the evening they put it in one of the 
covered boxes till they are allowed to bury it.” 

“ At what hour are you on duty to-morrow ? ” 

“At the same hour I quitted to-day, — eight 
o’clock.” 

“ It is you, then, who will carry the corpse from 
the table to the hall where the covered boxes are 
kept?” 

“Yes, sir; unless Louis — that is my comrade : 


A DISMAL PLACE. 


57 


my name is Gabriel — unless Louis has received 
the order from the clerk before my arrival.” 

At this sweet poetic name borne by the. man 
who guarded the victims of suicide or assassina- 
tion, William Dow, in spite of himself, could not 
repress a movement of surprise. It wa^ but mo- 
mentary. The wretch who was listening to him 
almost in anguish did not perceive it. 

^‘Well, Gabriel,” resumed the American, ‘Gf 
to-morrow evening on arriving at the Morgue, you 
no longer find the body on the table, you must 
go and look for it ; if, on the contrary, you find it, 
you must leave it there.” 

‘‘Why?” 

“ Because I wish to examine it myself, also.” 

“You!” 

“My very self. If you open the door of the 
Morgue for me to-morrow night, I will give you 
five hundred francs, and five hundred more when 
I go out half an hour later.” 

The custodian looked at the stranger with fear, 
and involuntarily drew away. 

“ The Devil I they do not seem to understand 
each other,” said Picot to himself, having noticed 
it. 

William Dow drew near Gabriel. 

“You think, perhaps, that I am a little crazy,” 
he continued. “ No, I am neither crazy nor a crim- 
inal : I am a physician, and the wound that this old 
man has received seems to me so peculiar that I 
wish to examine it closely. That is all. Now, as 


58 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

I know that the doctor charged with the autopsy 
cannot give me a permit to be present; and, as 
your clerk will not let me see the corpse after the 
operation, I ask it of you.” 

The American said all this in a tone so calm and 
simple that Gabriel felt all at once re-assured. 

In giving himself out as a physician, William 
Dow suddenly silenced the terrors and scruples 
of the clerk, who now saw only the thousand francs 
to be earned. “ 

Yet he still hesitated. 

Come,” resumed the stranger, ^‘what have you 
to fear You are alone at night; you have the 
keys of the doors of the main passage-way, since 
the bodies are brought in that way. Who will see 
us No one. The window of the room where the 
autopsies are held looks on the back part of the 
Morgue. A small lamp and twenty or twenty-five 
minutes will suffice me. Do you consent ? ” 

At what hour will you come ? ” murmured the 
custodian. 

“ At about one o’clock. At that hour the neigh- 
borhood is perfectly quiet. After assuring myself 
that there is no one .around, I will approach the 
door on the left of the quay ; you will keep it open 
on the inside, and I will scratch against the panel 
-that you may be perfectly sure it is I, and not 
some belated passer-by ; I will give you the five 
hundred francs promised, then will enter, and you 
will lock the door behind me. Half an hour later I 
will leave the same way, giving you the other five 
hundred francs.” 


A DISMAL PLACE, 


59 


Will you be alone ? 

‘‘Absolutely alone.’’ 

“You will not tell any one } ” 

“No one: I am not a native of this country, 
and shall leave it in a few days.” 

“Very well, sir, I will do as you wish; but I 
swear to you that it is the first time I have ever 
done such a thing.” 

“ I believe you. To-morrow, then, at one o’clock 
at night.” 

“To-morrow at one o’clock.” 

“ Ah ! do the victim’s garments remain in the 
autopsy-room } ” 

“Yes, sir, until the clerk sends them to the 
court to serve as means in evidence.” 

“Very well. Now another thing.” 

“ What more ^ ” 

“ Do you know how to run ? ” 

At this very unexpected question, the custodian 
of the Morgue felt all his fears revive in regard to 
the state of mind of his questioner. 

The latter to remove them smiled, and said, — 

“You will understand me. I am watched, for 
reasons I won’t explain, as it would not interest 
you ; and presently, when I go out, I should not 
be surprised to meet on the door-steps of this 
wine-shop an individual who is curious to know 
who you are. Are they acquainted with you in 
this establishment ? ” 

“ No, sir : I have never been here before, and I 
live at quite a distance.” 


6o 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


Well, I wish to baffle the plan of the person 
who wishes to know what it does not suit me that 
he should know. For that reason, this is what we 
will do. As we go out, you will say, loud enough 
to be heard by the man ^ho is there, ‘To-morrow, 
sir, on the arrival of the midnight train at Ver- 
sailles.’ You understand me perfectly } ” 

“Yes: ‘To-morrow, on the arrival of the mid- 
night train at Versailles.’ ” 

“ Then you will run off as fast as your legs can 
carry you in the direction you wish to go. That is 
why I ask you if you can run well.” 

“ Oh ! I defy any one to catch up with me in 
running.” 

“ That is perfect, then : here are twenty francs 
for your run. So it is agreed : To-morrow night 
at one o’clock, at the left door of the Morgue ; and 
down on the door-steps you must say, ‘To-mor- 
row, on the arrival of the midnight train at Ver- 
sailles ; ’ then, fly ! ” 

“I understand perfectly.” 

William Dow then rose, and proceeded to the 
door of the establishment, after paying for the 
bottle of wine, which Gabriel had emptied to 
the last drop while pocketing the new fee of his 
strange acquaintance. 

Picot, who was always at his post, followed the 
slightest movements of the American and his com- 
panion, and glided along the wall in order to reach 
the wine-merchant’s door-step at the same time. 

Every thing went on as the stranger desired. 


A DISMAL PLACE. 


6i 


The custodian spoke the words agreed upon, and, 
springing to the other side of the road, flew away 
like a deer, and disappeared like a shadow in one 
of the adjacent streets. 

William Dow noticed the amazed look of the 
detective, who did not expect such an abrupt part- 
ing between his two personages ; but, pretending 
not to see him, he went quietly to meet his car- 
riage. 

Confused for a moment, for he had formed the 
plan, which the American had foreseen, to follow 
the workman, to learn where he lived, and who he 
was, Picot said to himself, that, after all, it was 
only a matter deferred, since he would meet him 
the next day at Versailles ; and he ran to his hack 
to assure himself at least that the traveller at 
Hotel du Dauphin was returning home. Finally, 
as he liked to explain every thing to himself, he 
thought the man had left at such a pace only be- 
cause he was late, and not because he wished to 
avoid being watched, since this he could not sus- 
pect. 

As for William Dow, when at last in his car- 
riage, he could not help saying with his ironical 
smile, — 

There is a poor devil who will wait for us to- 
morrow evening at ten minutes past midnight in 
the station at Versailles ; and, as there is no return 
train at that hour, he will pass the night down 
there. During that time I shall be where I wish 
to be.’^ 


62 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


Twenty-five minutes later the stranger returned 
home, and Picot sent him a mocking good-evening 
from a distance, praising himself for the result of 
his evening. | 

The next day, when the detective went to re-‘ 
count his expedition to M. Meslin, he received the 
greatest praise and forty francs, which the police- 
commissioner gave him as a reward, saying, — 

It was very well done. Picot, you are a skilful 
fellow ; you have put us on an interesting track 
which we must not lose. It is useless to watch 
our man during the day. He might mistrust 
something. But be at Versailles this evening on 
the arrival of the train. Take a comrade with you, 
if you wish.'' 

It is useless, M. Meslin. I will accomplish the 
matter all alone, if you will permit," answered the 
agent proudly. ‘‘‘Comrades in such cases take one- 
quarter of the pains and half the profits ! " 

At a sign from M. Meslin, which expressed that 
he might do as he pleased, Picot went away wav- 
ing farewell with one hand, and gayly clinching 
the gold pieces with the other. 

As for the police-commissioner, he resumed his 
work, while dreaming of the great strides he was 
making in his progress towards the vexation of the 
examining magistrate and the position of chief of 
detectives. 


THE FIRST STEPS OF THE EXAMINATION. 63 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE FIRST STEPS OF THE EXAMINATION. 

The day after the occurrences we have just de- 
scribed, — the 5th of March, that is, — M. Tissot, 
on returning from his duties, was apprised of the 
tragedy whose scene had been the quiet dwelling 
of M. Bernier and wife. 

We will not attempt to paint the emotion of the 
modest clerk, who was acquainted with crimes and 
assassins only through the reports in the Gazette 
des Tribunaux. Like a large number of quiet per- 
sons, he was a constant reader of the paper. He 
was eager, as one will understand, to go up to his 
room with the concierge ; and, at the first glance 
around his apartments, he cried, — 

‘‘Why, some one has been in my room! I 
am positive ; for I put the key under my mat. 
Besides, here is a chair which is not as I placed it, 
and my papers have been disturbed.’' 

After restoring order to his table, he added with 
terror, — 

“ Some one has taken my knife.” 

“Your knife asked Bernier in amazement. 

“Yes; my Catalan knife that I laid on my 
drawings to keep them in place, — a large knife 
with a horn-handle.” 


64 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

Ah, great heavens ! it was a weapon of that 
kind that the doctor drew out of the body. All is 
explained : the assassin concealed himself in your 
rooms.” 

The concierge and his tenant were equally fright- 
ened. It seemed to them that this new discovery 
made them accomplices, as it were, to this murder. 

Poor Tissot saw himself already pursued, arrest- 
ed, and condemned ; and Bernier, old soldier that 
he was, felt no less anxious for his own safety. 

For doubt was no longer possible : some one had 
made use of the signal agreed upon between the 
postal-clerk and his two co7tcie7ges to gain admit- 
tance through the street-door ; this unknown per- 
son had concealed himself in the house, and had 
even armed hiriiself in the apartment of one of 
the tenants to commit his crime. 

In this combination of strange circumstances, 
there was more than enough to disturb the reason 
of the two men whose lives were so calm and 
regular. 

But how did this unknown old man get into the 
house } At what hour, by what means, for what 
purpose } 

This was what neither Bernier nor M. Tissot 
could explain to themselves. 

You of course have never told any one how 
you let us know it is you when you return at 
night ? ” the concierge suddenly asked his lodger. 

No one, M. Bernier, no one,” answered M. 
Tissot, trembling. 


THE FIRST STEPS OF THE EXAMINATION, 65 

And you have never observed that you were 
followed or watched ? 

‘‘ Never/’ 

‘‘Then I cannot understand it/’ 

And, to have done with all these mysteries that 
troubled his brain, the concierge added, — 

“You must go as quickly as you can, and make 
your deposition to the police-commissioner.” 

“ Oh ! I will not lose an instant,” answered M. 
Tissot. 

Without even taking time to change his gar- 
ments, the postal-clerk ran down four flights, and 
went immediately to the commissioner. 

In less than a quarter of an hour afterwards, he 
stood on the threshold of the office, but he hesi- 
tated a moment before entering. It seemed to 
him as if he were never to leave there, save to be 
sent to Mazas with handcuffs on his wrists. 

Yet, as he had not come there for nothing, and 
since, besides, he would not have dared to return 
to the Rue Marlot without keeping his promise to 
Bernier, he mustered up courage, and with great 
trepidation crossed the threshold of the commis- 
sioner’s door. 

The secretary took him for a madman ; but, 
when he explained the object of his visit, he was 
immediately introduced to M. Meslin, to whom he 
told, as well as he could, what he had to say. 

“ I am grateful to you for your promptness in 
coming to inform the officers of the law,” said the 
latter, after attentively listening to him, “but I no 


66 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


longer have charge of the affair ; it is to the exam- 
inmg magistrate appointed by the crown-attorney 
that you will have to give these explanations. You 
will probably soon be requested to go to his office.” 

Delighted at receiving compliments instead of 
the reproaches he feared, M. Tissot, feeling com- 
pletely re-assured, hastened to take leave of the 
police-commissioner, and return home, resolved to 
remain there, and wait without new terrors for the 
summons of the examining magistrate. 

The Paris court had indeed intrusted the in- 
formation in regard to the crime in the Rue Mar- 
lot to one of its magistrates, M. de Fourmel. He 
was a man about thirty, had come from the prov- 
inces but a few months before, and was very intel- 
ligent, distinguished, and honest, but still more 
ambitious and proud. 

After acquainting himself with the affair, it 
seemed to him that it offered what he was impa- 
tiently waiting for, — the occasion to display all his 
zeal and sagacity ; and he took the entire charge 
of it, without leaving to M. Meslin even that part of 
the preparation that examining magistrates usually 
accept very willingly from the police-commis- 
sioners. 

M. de Fourmel was sharp and abrupt as a 
magistrate, accepting neither counsel nor observa- 
tions ; the more jealous of his authority, because 
he had enjoyed it but a little while. He was one 
of those pessimists who see only the guilty every- 
where, and so completely identified himself with 


THE FIRST STEPS OF THE EXAMINATION, 67 

his business, that even when at home with his 
family, he affected searching looks and a severe 
way of talking. 

Whatever your title, you need only enter his 
office to find that he believed you his tool and 
plaything. Though he had been brought up in 
distinguished society, he often became almost rude, 
owing to the manner in which he scrutinized and 
questioned the most inoffensive people. 

His most intimate friends ceased to go and see 
him at court; for, as soon as, he entered upon his 
formidable duties, he seldom offered one a seat, or 
returned a greeting, and his clerk had never seen 
him smile. 

He carried it so far that sometimes he was made 
to suffer for it. Some very honest people, having 
come to give him certain information, took offence 
at his haughty manners, and, being less patient 
than others, replied to his insolence by turning 
their backs upon him, after telling him that they 
had neglected their own affairs to aid the cause of 
justice, and not to be treated like criminals. 

One of these painful scenes having caused real 
excitement at the court, the crown-attorney, eagerly 
zealous to preserve intact the tradition of urban- 
ity and courtesy which belongs to the French ma- 
gistracy by right, made some remarks to M. de 
Fourmel about his manners, which, however, did 
not improve them. The young magistrate re- 
mained unchanged, omnipotent, impeccable, as he 
thought, at least ; and M. Meslin, who knew him 


68 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


well, having had dealings with him, resolved never 
to see him unless absolutely obliged to do so. 

One can understand, then, that, owing to his 
state of feeling, the police-commissioner in the 
district of the Arsenal enjoyed his dream of fol- 
lowing in an official capacity, and on his own 
account, his fine clew, while M. de Fourmel would 
on his part seek the mysterious assassin in the 
Rue Marlot. 

M. de Fourmel, besides, seemed to wish not to 
lose a moment ; for he was hardly in possession 
of the brief began by M. Meslin and the report of 
the prefecture of police, than he gave the order to 
his clerk to enter the names of all the tenants at 
No. 13 of the Rue Marlot, and the concie 7 'ges of 
the house, the landlord of Hotel du Dauphin, his 
clerks, and William Dow. 

The court had notified him that Dr. Ravinel was 
charged with making the autopsy on the victim, 
and that the report of the celebrated practitioner 
would be forwarded to him without delay. They 
also sent 'him two excellent proofs of the old man’s 
photograph ; and, although he deeply regretted 
having been unable to take the initiative in these 
two operations, he consoled himself by thinking 
that the affair was grave enough to furnish him a 
thousand other occasions to prove his skill. 

Let us leave M. de Fourmel to his labors and 
his hopes, to return to two of our characters in 
whom our readers may graciously take an interest, 
William Dow and Master Picot. 


DOW AT FARISy PICOT AT VERSAILLES, 69 


CHAPTER VII. 

HOW WILLIAM DOW EMPLOYED AT PARIS THE TIME 
THAT MASTER PICOT LOST AT VERSAILLES. 

Feeling certain that he should meet William 
Dow again at the station at Versailles that even- 
ing, Master Picot thought he should not need to 
watch him during the day. 

But, like those misers who love to take a look at 
their treasures now and then to see if they are 
secure in their place ; like the greedy ones who 
enjoy inspecting in advance the table at which 
they will soon be seated ; like the lover whose 
happiness is near, and who likes to take possession 
with his eyes of the woman beloved : so did the 
detective wish to see once more him whom he 
already looked upon as his prey. For this reason,' 
at about seven o’clock he went to take a look 
around the first floor at Brebant’s. 

The American was there, as the evening before, 
enjoying an excellent dinner, and reading the 
papers. 

Perfect ! ” murmured Picot : ‘‘ he is a prompt 
man of regular habits ; this evening he will be at 
Versailles at the arrival of the train, as agreed.” 

And the spy was delighted at having given him- 


70 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT. 


self this new certainty that his plan would not 
fail. 

In order not to be mistaken about the station, he 
consulted a guide-book. Now every thing was cer- 
tain, the train that arrives at Versailles at ten 
minutes past midnight being the one that starts 
from the Rue Saint Lazare. 

If the detective had not felt such great confi- 
dence in himself, and had waited for William Dow 
till he came out of the restaurant, perhaps he 
might have changed his mind ; for, after paying 
his bill, the stranger suddenly disappeared, without 
any one having seen him come out of the door that 
opens on the boulevard. 

More far-sighted than Master Picot, and leaving 
nothing to chance, the American walked through 
the restaurant, ascended to the story above, and 
followed the entry on which the parlors opened, — 
an entry that also leads to the staircase in Hotel 
Saint-Phar. 

Once there he had only to descend a few steps 
to reach the boulevard through the main door of 
the hotel, and to jump into one of the numerous 
carriages stationed there. 

Admitting that the detective was at his post of 
observation, or that he was replaced by a friend, 
William Dow was certain that, owing to this 
dHour, he had escaped being watched. 

But the intelligent Picot suspected nothing of 
the kind ; and a few hours later, while he was at 
Versailles in despair at seeing neither of those 


now AT TATIS, PICOT AT VERSAILLES. 7 1 

whom he expected arrive, the stranger, after per- 
forming s'everal errands, left his carriage in the 
Place du Chatelet, and proceeded quietly on foot 
to the Morgue, following the Quai Napoleon. 

When he reached the end of the square that 
extends behind Notre Dame, he stopped to inspect 
the suburbs, as well at least as the dark, misty 
night would permit. 

The neighborhood was absolutely deserted. 
From the place where he stood, William Dow dis- 
covered the Louis Philippe Bridge, and that of the 
Archbishop ; that is, the only two roads that led 
where he was going, since the quai that separates 
the church from the little arm of the Seine was 
then, as it still is to-day, transformed into a dock- 
yard out of the way of travel. 

He looked at his watch : it was one o’clock. 

Feeling sure that he was not observed, he then 
followed the fence along the square, and, crossing 
the road rapidly, hid in the angle formed by the 
Morgue, and the point of the island near the large 
door at the left of the dismal building. 

Under his feet was the river whose ebb and flow 
he could plainly hear, but whose muddy waves he 
could hardly distinguish, it was so very dark. 

The gaslights on the Bridge de la Tournelle 
looked like nebulae lost iil the distance, and the 
apsis of Notre Dame, with its arched buttresses 
and small spires, like the skeleton of some giant 
animal. 

A fine cold rain was falling, and to remain there 


72 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

at such an hour, quietly listening to the slightest 
sound, William Dow must have been possessed of 
incredible will, or been urged by some very power- 
ful motive. 

After giving one last searching look around, he 
knocked on the door of the Morgue with the head 
of his cane. 

A little gate a few inches square was opened, 
and he heard some one asking him in a low 
voice, — 

‘‘ Is it you ? 

‘‘It is I,’' he answered; “here is the promised 
sum,’' and he pushed a roll of five hundred francs 
through the crack. 

Knowing the mistrust of the common people, 
he preferred to pay his man with gold rather than 
with a bank-note. 

There was a moment’s silence. The custodian 
was assuring himself, no doubt, of the worth of 
the money. 

“Come in,” he said, in a moment, after partly 
opening the door ; and William Dow disappeared 
in the interior of the Morgue. 

The darkness was so profound that he had to 
grope along not to hit against various objects, 
carriages, stretchers, and biers, which encumbered 
the uncovered passage-way where Gabriel pre- 
ceded him, a passage-way hidden from every eye 
in the direction of the river, by a high fence with 
closed blinds. 

They finally reached a large door which they 


DOW AT PARIS, PICOT AT VERSAILLES. 73 


entered, and which the custodian closed behind 
him. 

William Dow judged that he was in the room of 
departures and arrivals, where, the evening before, 
he had seen the victim of the Rue Marlot being 
photographed. 

He was not mistaken : he recognized it per- 
fectly when Gabriel lighted it with the aid of a 
lantern, which he sought behind a coffin. 

The custodian beckoned the stranger to follow 
him. 

They then crossed the wash-room, next to the 
room where the bodies were kept under cover, and 
came to the autopsy-room. 

'' Does this give you enough light } asked Ga- 
briel, raising the candle of the lantern, and direct- 
ing the rays towards* the body lying on the zinc 
table. 

Plenty,'* answered William Dow, leaning over 
the mutilated body. 

But he drew himself up again almost immedi- 
ately ; and, after taking several surgical instru- 
ments from his pocket, he cast a glance around 
him. 

‘^Are you looking for any thing.?" asked the 
employ^. 

Yes : here is what I want." 

The nocturnal visitor had just taken down a 
large, blood-stained apron from a nail on the wall. 
It was the same one that served the physician a 
few hours before. 


74 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT, 


He passed it around his neck, fastened it at his 
waist, and, turning up his sleeves, approached the 
dissecting-table. 

He first examined the wound in the groin, tra- 
cing with his bistoury the path which the murder- 
ous weapon had followed. This first examination 
caused him, no doubt, a certain astonishment, for 
he stopped a moment to reflect. Then he passed 
to the dead man's stomach, which was partly open, 
and he reached the wound in the neck, but exam- 
ined it only a second. 

‘^Will this body come under the physician’s 
inspection again } ” he then asked Gabriel, who 
followed his movements with affrighted eyes. 

No, sir, I believe not,” answered the latter : 
*Hhe burial-permit will arrive, no doubt, to-morrow 
morning.” 

Give me a mallet, then.” 

A mallet ! for what ? ” 

‘‘To open the head. I wish to examine the 
brain, which the doctor forgot to do.” 

“ But, sir, suppose any one should discover it ? ” 

“ Who, pray ? since it is you who will have 
charge of the burial to-morrow. Besides, be as- 
sured, one would have to look at it very close to 
discover any thing.” 

While saying these words, William Dow seized 
the mallet which the custodian offered him, and 
armed himself with a kind of cold-chisel which he 
drew from his pocket. 

In less than five minutes, like a skilful practi- 


DOW AT PARIS, PICOT AT VERSAILLES, 75 

tioner, he bared the old man’s brain, and, taking 
the candle from Gabriel’s hands, leaned over this 
gaping skull, whose slightest parts he carefully 
examined. 

It was truly a horrible sight that these two men 
offered, alone in this gloomy place : one, intelli- 
gent and distinguished, questioning the dead to 
wrest some mysterious secret from him ; the other, 
common and brutish, a silent witness of the excit- 
ing scene, which caused him no other fear than 
that of being caught. 

And the whole lighted only by a wretched can- 
dle, whose sputtering rays flickered over the muti- 
lated corpse, and traced fantastic shadows on the 
white-washed walls of the room. 

No other sound was heard but that of the heavy 
vehicles rolling over the neighboring quays, the 
murmuring of the river, whose waters, being very 
high that night, divided at the point of the island, 
and now and then, borne on the east wind, the 
screeching of engines on the Orleans railroad, and 
the plaintive howling of a few stray dogs. 

The stranger finally finished his operation, and 
so skilfully, that, as he promised the custodian of 
the Morgue, one could not perceive at first glance 
that the dead man’s head had been touched ; for 
the bony frame of the skull was put back in place, 
and the hair covered the spot where the scalp had 
been raised. 

Velpeau or Nelaton could not have done better. 

When the operator stood erect again, his grave 
face expressed evident satisfaction. 


76 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

‘‘Are the garments of the deceased here ? he 
asked. 

“Here they are, sir,” answered Gabriel, point- 
ing to a bundle of clothes on the second table 
near by. 

Among these articles was a cloth frock-coat, 
whose left sleeve William Dow examined atten- 
tively, after which he murmured, — 

“ That is really it : I was not mistaken.” 

“Now,” said he, “give me some water.” 

Gabriel hastened to obey. 

The American carefully washed his hands, took 
off the work-apron with which he had covered his 
bosom, quietly placed his surgical instruments in 
their box, and this box in his pocket ; then, hand- 
ing the unfaithful watcher of the dead a second 
roll of five hundred francs, he said, — 

“You have kept your promise. I will keep 
mine. When you will have led me back to the 
door, we shall be quits. However, if any thing 
disagreeable should happen to you on account of 
this visit, count on me : I shall be informed of it, 
and will not forget you. Have no fear.” 

While William Dow was talking thus with his 
usual calmness, he was putting on his gloves, and 
wrapping himself up in his overcoat. 

Thoroughly dumbfounded at this sang-froidy 
which he had certainly never seen equalled even 
amid the surroundings in which he lived, Gabriel 
found no words to answer him, but merely bowed 
as he passed before the stranger to show him the 
way. 


now AT PARIS, PICOT AT VERSAILLES, 77 


A few seconds later the latter found himself 
outside of the Morgue. 

The weather was gloomy, and the environs 
deserted. 

After crossing the road, and going along the 
Quai Napoleon, he hastened his steps to reach 
the nearest carriage-station as quickly as possible. 

William Dow conducted this whole affair like a 
skilful man ; for, in allowing himself to be tracked 
the evening before, he had no other object than to 
turn his spy on a false track which would permit 
him to act the following day in perfect freedom. 
We have just seen how fully he succeeded. 

During this time Master Picot was seeking sleep 
in vain on the miserable bed in the inn in which 
he sought shelter. 

Beginning to fear that he had been tricked, the 
poor agent was asking himself how M. Meslin 
would receive it when he should tell him of his 
useless waiting at Versailles. 


78 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE EXAMINATION. 

Three days after the discovery of the corpse, 
on the 6th of March, the witnesses assigned fol- 
lowed one another into the magistrate’s room, 
after waiting a long while in this gallery of the 
court where persons called upon to throw light on 
matters of justice wait as in an ante-chamber, 
forced to sit on not very comfortable benches ; for 
the custodians, slaves to severe orders, forbade 
them to walk about. 

It is true that in other galleries, one is, on the 
contrary, forbidden to sit. 

Mme. Chapuzi, who was introduced the first, 
told in a trembling voice how she happened to see 
the body ; her husband, as frightened as herself 
at the dry, sharp voice of the magistrate, came 
near fainting when he explained how he went to 
the landing on hearing his wife’s cry. 

When it came to the concierge s turn, poor Mother 
Bernier thought that her last day had come when 
she heard M. de Fourmel say to her sternly, — 
You and your husband have much to reproach 
youself with in all this. If you had kept a closer 
watch over your door, this misfortune would not 
have happened.” 


THE EXAMINATION. 


79 


‘‘But, judge,'' ventured Bernier, “when the bell 
was rung at eleven o'clock, some one had first 
given two raps on our window-shutters : my wife 
thought that it was M. Tissot who was entering." 

“You see that it was not he. In a well-man- 
aged house such an^vent could not have occurred." 

The old soldier bit his moustache, and in order 
not to reply to these unmerited reproaches with 
any compromising word he answered only in mono- 
syllables. 

Capt. Martin's turn came next, but he was less 
patient. 

M. de Fourmel taking pleasure in asking him a 
third time how it was possible that he had heard 
no noise in the night of the 3d of March, when 
the worthy officer had already declared that nothing 
had disturbed his sleep, he replied to him politely, 
but in a tone which sufficiently demonstrated that 
he would no longer endure the young man's persist- 
ence, — 

“ Pardon, sir, I have already told you twice that 
I heard no sound of a scuffle, — nothing, in short : 
if you had done me the honor to look me in the 
face, you would not persist, for you would have 
understood that I do not lie, even when it might 
be for my interest to dissemble the truth, which 
is not the case to-day, it seems to me." 

M. de Fourmel leaped from his chair in amaze- 
ment. No one had ever dared to speak to him 
thus. The boldest of those who had to suffer 
from his proceedings had to be silent, or suddenly 
withdraw. 


So 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


As M. de Fourmers gaze fell on Capt. Mar- 
tin’s rough and loyal face, he observed for the 
first time that the tenant of No. 13 was decorated, 
and the empty sleeve of his coat told plainly that 
he had paid dearly for his cross. All this troubled 
him a little ; and as the magistrate, taking him all 
in all, was a well-bred man, he felt that he had 
gone too far. 

Therefore he hastily finished, or nearly so, say- 
ing, — 

‘‘You are right, sir; but this affair is so grave, 
so mysterious, that my duty bids me to multiply 
questions, to suppose and to foresee every thing.” 

The captain bowed, arid, taking up the conversa- 
tion himself, said, — 

“Now, sir, permit me not an observation, but 
an entreaty.” 

“What is it, sir.^” asked M. de Fourmel politely. 

“Among the summonses that you have sent to 
the lodgers in the house where I live, there is one 
addressed to Mme. Bernard.” 

“Yes, that is true, for to-morrow.” 

“Doubtless you are not aware that the lady 
gave birth to a child five or six days ago : she is 
very ill, and cannot come at your summons.” 

“ I shall defer it for some days, or I shall go to 
her room when I visit the scene of the crime.” 

“ I will ask even more of you, sir : Mme. Bernard, 
whom the premature death of her husband has 
greatly afflicted, is very impressionable ; and it is 
to be feared that your visit, whatever caution you 


THE EXAMINATION, 


8l 


use in your questions, may cause her dangerous 
excitement. All in the house know her, and feel 
the liveliest interest in her. Could you not wait 
till she is perfectly recovered before you question 
her.^ Besides, what information could she give 
you ? The poor woman has heard even less of it 
than I.’^ 

The old officer could not help smiling malicious- 
ly, as he uttered these last words. 

‘‘Very well, sir,’* answered the magistrate, blush- 
ing slightly: “I will wait till Mme. Bernard’s 
physician finds her in a condition to be questioned 
without endangering her health.” 

“ I thank you very sincerely, sir, in the name of 
Mme. Bernard and for myself.” 

And after signing his examination with a mag- 
nificent flourish, although made with the left hand, 
the worthy officer bowed to M. de Fourmel with 
a politeness that said plainly that he should carry 
away only the best impression of the examining 
magistrate. 

The depositions of M. Tissot and William Dow 
were more interesting than those of the other 
lodgers and of the concierges of No. 13. 

In the first place, the postal-clerk brought pre- 
cious information which M, Meslin’s report did 
not foretell. It will be remembered that the 
police-commissioner had not admitted that either 
victim or assassin had been introduced into the 
apartment on the fourth story. 

Now, the first thing that M. Tissot did was to 


82 NUMBER Thirteen rue harlot 

declare that some one had entered his room, and 
the second to recognize his Catalan knife in the 
weapon presented him by M. de Fourmel. 

Of the assassination, he knew nothing but what 
had been told him ; but he declared that he never 
had told any one about the signal agreed upon 
between his concierges and himself to announce his 
return. 

He only thought that this signal was known to 
the other tenants : it certainly was by Capt. Mar- 
tin, who used it when he went out to evening com- 
panies or to the theatre. 

William Dow appeared before the magistrate, 
after Tissot, and told him what he previously told 
the police-commissioner. M. de Fourmel, who ap- 
preciated little outside of himself, was surprised 
at the elegance and clearness with which this 
stranger expressed himself in a language that was 
not his own. 

Therefore he was almost gracious. It is true 
the American had rendered a real service to jus- 
tice, in so quickly making known the abode of the 
victim of the Rue Marlot. 

They would certainly have succeeded in finding 
him by sending agents to all the hotels and lodg- 
ing-houses, but would have lost precious time, by 
which the assassin would perhaps have profited to 
leave France and Europe. Moreover, they would 
not have so soon obtained those letters that were 
the first proofs of identity, since they indicated 
the real name of the unknown. 


THE EXAMINATION 


83 


Unfortunately these letters gave but this one 
piece of information : as we have said, they bore 
dates, but no mark whatever of the place from 
which they had been sent. 

‘‘ Heavens ! judge,'' said William Dow, to whom 
M. de Fourmel had spoken of the delay which 
would be caused by this perhaps voluntary omis- 
sion on the part of M. Rumigny’s correspondents, 
believe that you could limit your search." 

‘‘ How so, sir ? " asked the magistrate curiously, 
who, in spite of his mistrustful disposition, was 
drawn out of his reserve by the first difficulties of 
his examination. 

‘‘You did me the honor to let me tell you just 
now, that, while entering Hotel du Dauphin with 
M. Meslin, I took the liberty of entering M. Des- 
rocher's, or rather Rumigny's room with him." 

“ Yes : what of it ? " 

“ Well, while the commissioner was inspecting 
the papers and effects of the unhappy man, I 
observed that the railroad-guide, which was on his 
table, was open at page 67, where the hours of 
arrival and departure of trains east and to the 
Ardennes were given." 

“That proves nothing." 

“ Pardon : it would prove nothing, if the guide 
were not worn and soiled at that page, as every 
book is that is long kept opened at one spot. 
Besides, I think that if one were to examine it 
more closely, one would discover finger-nail marks 
on this page showing, that some particular city 


84 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

more than another interested him who made use 
of the guide.” 

Perhaps so : indeed, I will order it to be 
brought me.” 

M. de Fourmel spoke these words in a certain, 
stiff manner, which already betrayed some jealousy. 

William Dow did not perceive it, or did not 
wish to appear to do so ; so he added in his calm, 
cold voice, — 

“ That is not all.” 

“ What more } ” asked the examining magistrate, 
feeling both desirous of learning all, and vexed at 
having to accept, if not the advice, at least the aid, 
of this officious auxiliary. 

“ I have made another observation which I ask 
your permission to submit to your sagacity.” 

‘‘What is it.?” 

“ It would perhaps be of some importance for 
the court to know at what hour M. Rumigny came 
in ; then afterwards left home. The servants in 
the hotel did not know, and I did not see him my- 
self that evening.” 

“ Really, that would be a valuable piece of 
information.” 

“Well, sir, I think I can assure you that the 
unfortunate old man returned home at about nine 
o'clock.” 

“ How do you know, since you did not see 
him ? ” 

“ That is true, but I observed, among the news- 
papers scattered here and there on M. Rumigny’s 


THE EXAMINATION 


S5 


table, the Soir of the evening before. Now, this 
paper, which I buy sometimes, does not appear till 
half-past eight, and does not reach the neighbor- 
hood of the Place Royale before nine o’clock. It 
happens naturally, that since it was in the room at 
No. 7, where no one has entered, the occupant 
of that room came there.” 

‘‘That is perfectly reasoned. You are very 
observing.” 

“ I am a great hunter, sir, and a physician, 
indeed, a member of the faculty at Philadelphia ; 
but in America, with our civilization of yesterday, 
which forces us often to defend ourselves, we have 
all, more or less, preserved something of the trap- 
per and adventurer.” 

“You have done well, sir. I am much obliged 
to you for these details. I shall perhaps need to 
call you again. Shall you remain much longer in 
Paris } ” 

“Two or three months, at least. I shall always 
be at your orders.” 

“I thank you,” concluded the magistrate, bow- 
ing to the stranger more politely than he was ever 
known to do to any one in his office. 

Understanding that M. de Fourmel gave him 
permission to leave, William Dow signed his de- 
position, returned the magistrate’s bow, and left. 

On the door-step of the court, he jostled against 
a kind of sheriff’s clerk, who seemed, as he leaned 
against the railing, to be absorbed in reading nu- 
merous bundles of business-papers; and a hundred 


86 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


steps farther on, at the bridge on ’Change, he rec- 
ognized by his bearing the same individual, walk- 
ing on a little ahead, and on the opposite sidewalk. 

It was Master Picot, whom the American’s keen 
eye had easily found out under his new disguise. 

Decidedly the poor devil means to stick to it,” 
he thought : '' his ill success last night did not dis- 
courage him. I pity him ever so much : he will 
not be able even to-day to make his chief some 
fine promise.” • 

William Dow returned home very quietly ; then 
went out again to spend his evening like the most 
honest citizen in the world, without even asking 
himself for an instant if the detective’s agent were 
tracking him or not. 

Picot was in despair ; for on the morning of that 
day, when he returned to M. Meslin to tell him 
how uselessly he passed the night at Versailles, 
the police-commissioner did not treat him very 
well. 

‘‘You have been fooled, young man,” he said to 
him. “ Our individual had no more a rendezvous 
at Versailles than myself. If he sent you there, 
it was because it was necessary for him to get rid 
of your watchfulness. He is smarter than you.” 

Profoundly humiliated, the spy swore to avenge 
himself, even if it were necessary for him to lose 
his sleep for a whole month, in order to detect his 
enemy in a crime. 

Let us leave the unhappy Picot to this useless 
pursuit, since William Dow had succeeded in per- 


THE EXAMINATION, 


87 


forming all that he wished to do secretly, and 
return to M. de Fourmel, whose day had been so 
consumed by the examinations we have spoken of 
above. 

While waiting to hear the other witnesses, who 
were summoned for the next day, the young ma- 
gistrate took home the letters found in the secre- 
tary at No. 7 by M. Meslin, who sent them to him. 

That evening after dinner, he shut himself up 
in his study for a careful reading of these letters ; 
and, as Cuvier reconstructed an antediluvian an- 
imal by the means of a single fragment of his 
bones, so did M. de Fourmel wish to discover in 
this correspondence the prologue and the first acts 
in the tragedy whose dhiownent had been the old 
man's death. 

This was an interesting task, and well calculated 
to excite the ambition of such a man as he : there- 
fore he undertook it with ardor, but soon had to 
acknowledge that it presented a thousand dif- 
ficulties. 

M. Rumigny's correspondents wrote him with 
many circumlocutions and periphrases, either 
because they knew that their friend could under- 
stand them by a mere hint, and they feared to 
awaken in him memories that were too painful by 
speaking certain nances, and pausing long on cer- 
tain facts, or because they did not wish, in case 
their letters went astray, that the secret to which 
they referred should be discovered by any curious 
person. 


88 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


“ Return home,” said one ; ''leave to her sad fate 
the ungrateful one who has' abandoned you, and 
deserted duty ; do not risk the honor of your name 
in a public scandal.” 

"Take care,” wrote another: "that man is vio- 
lent and sly, as he has only too well proved ; one 
should not seek justice at your age.” 

In other letters he was urged to pardon, be 
merciful, and forget. All of which clearly showed 
that it was about a woman who had run away, and 
betrayed some man. Who was the unfaithful one } 
the wife, or mistress, of M. Rumigny } 

And where did this Rumigny live before coming 
to Paris to pursue this "violent and sly” man 
from whom he had every thing to fear } 

Who was this man under whose knife the old 
man had fallen } That woman’s lover, there was 
not the shadow of a doubt. But how did he get 
into this house, where M. Rumigny had also en- 
tered for some unknown reason } 

How, and what way, had the assassin escaped 
after committing the crime } Was this mysterious 
attempt the result of an ambuscade } or was it 
accidental, by some inexplicable chance, that No. 
13 in the Rue Marlot came to be the scene of the 
tragedy } 

To the majority of the questions that he ad- 
dressed to himself with the obstinacy which was 
one of the salient traits of his character, M. de 
Fourmel hardly knew what to answer. Therefore 
he fell asleep that night more anxious than his pride 


THE EXAMINATION. 89 

would allow him to acknowledge, about the mission 
which he had accepted at first with enthusiasm. 

The next day, on reaching his office, he found 
the railroad-guide and the newspaper Le SoiVy of 
which the American had spoken to him, and the 
report of the surgeon who made the autopsy on 
the victim. 

At the first glance he recognized that William 
Dow might be right ; and he immediately ordered 
his secretary to write to the courts in the princi- 
pal towns on the Eastern and Ardennes line, to 
ascertain if a M. Rumigny — following this cfew 
— had not disappeared from one of those towns. 

Having taken that measure, the magistrate care- 
fully read the medical examiner’s report, from the 
first to the last line. 

We will spare bur readers the technical details 
scattered throughout this document. We will only 
say that the physician explained in the clearest 
manner that the death of the individual whose 
body he had examined was caused by the severing 
of the femoral artery by the aid of a sharp weapon. 
The blow had been given from below, and struck 
upwards from right to left. Death was instanta- 
neous, and occurred five or six hours after the 
victim’s last meal. 

The doctor also testified to another wound, — 
a slight one, however, — which extended the length 
of three centimetres back of the right maxillary. 

He had, besides, observed a slight scratch on 
the right hand of the corpse, the hand whose palm 


90 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


was covered with blood. He thought that this 
blood came not from that scratch, but from the 
wound in the neck where the unhappy man had 
placed his hand when feeling himself struck. 

It was probable, as the surgeon thought, that 
it was in making this movement, or in driving 
back the assassin’s weapon, that the old man had 
injured one of the fingers of that hand. 

'‘Yes, that is certainly so,” thought M. de 
Fourmel. "The scene is easy to trace. Surprised 
from behind, and struck first on the neck, M. Ru- 
migny sought to escape ; the murderer, drawing 
him after himself, and, holding him close to his 
breast by the aid of his left arm, gave him a 
mortal blow.” 

And, satisfied with this first step towards the 
discovery of the truth, he gave orders to introduce 
the other witnesses whom he had summoned for 
that day. They were the hotel-keeper Tourillon, 
his servants, and a few neighbors. 

These depositions would enlighten M. de Four- 
mel on certain interesting points, although the 
unhappy Tourillon had not seen his lodger on the 
evening of the murder, and but one of the servants 
of the hotel, the one who was on watch that even- 
ing, could remember that the old man returned at 
nine o’clock, to go out an hour later. 

"Yet, sir,” said the magistrate to the hotel- 
keeper, when he had called him back a second 
time, " it seems to me hardly possible that you can 
have had a traveller at your house nearly a month 


THE EXAMINATION, 


91 


without concerning yourself about his ways, with- 
out talking to him, without interesting yourself in 
his movements, and without looking, either you or 
your servants, to see where his letters came from.” 
Oh, sir, we could not take such a liberty ! ” 

M. de Fourmel was not checked by this display 
of professional pride, and continued, — 

Did M. Rumigny never seem to you absent- 
minded, anxious, or sad ? ” 

‘‘Yes, it is true, judge,” quickly answered the 
landlord of Hotel du Dauphin, in the hope of soft- 
ening a little the severe looks which the magistrate 
fastened upon him, and which troubled him : “ it 
is true, I observed that.” 

“ Well, come ; must we draw out the words one 
by one } Tell me how this traveller came to your 
house, and on what day ? You must know. Your 
books, I suppose, are well kept 1 ” 

“ Certainly, sir : there is never the slightest 
irregularity in them.” 

“ I hear you.” 

“ M. Desrochers — I beg pardon, M. Rumigny — 
came to my house on the evening of the loth of 
February.” 

“ In the railroad-omnibus, or a carriage } ” 

“ That I do not know.” 

“Did he have baggage ” 

“ Only a valise, which he must have carried in 
the car with him, as it was not checked.” 

“What next .^” 

“ On arriving, he asked for a front room ; and. 


92 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


as that was not possible that day, he appeared 
greatly annoyed. The next day I was able to 
gratify his wish by putting him in No. y” 

Is it a room that looks on the street ? ” 

‘‘Yes, sir; but I do not understand why he 
wished an apartment on the front, for his blinds 
were almost always closed, even in broad day- 
light.’’ 

“ You have an excellent memory.’’ 

Hardly knowing whether this was a sincere 
compliment or ironical, the honest Tourillon again 
felt his ideas becoming confused ; but at the quick, 
sharp, “Go on” of M. de Fourmel, he tried to 
recover his wits, and added, — 

“ M. Rumigny was not very sociable : he would 
pass hurriedly by the office, and take his keys and 
letters without speaking to any one, merely an- 
swering Yes or No rather rudely when any one 
spoke to him, whether it was one of my servants 
or myself ; then he would go to his room, where he 
would almost always remain all day. He went 
out only in the evening towards nine or ten o’clock. 
When he took his meals at the hotel, they were 
usually served in his room.” 

“ Did he never give his letters to any one to put 
in the post-office ” 

“Not in my presence. My servants might per- 
haps inform you more particularly on this point.” 

“ Did he not receive visits ? ” 

“ I believe no one ever came to see him.” 

“ That is well. Sign your deposition, and keep 


THE EXAMINATION, 


93 


yourself within call of the court : it may be that I 
shall need to question you again.” 

The unfortunate Tourillon, without daring to 
look it over, signed at the bottom of the large 
sheet of paper which the clerk presented to him 
in rather a sneering manner, and then he backed 
out, bowing to the floor to M. de Fourmel, who 
took no more notice of him. 

The servants in the Hotel du Dauphin confirmed 
their master’s statements. As for the neighbors, 
they had never noticed M. Rumigny, or they had 
simply seen him pass before their door in the even- 
ing, but had not observed any thing strange about 
him. 

One of. these witnesses furnished information 
that might be of interest. He remembered that 
several times at night, when returning home, he 
had passed M. Rumigny in the street ; and he 
seemed to be waiting for some one. 

One evening in particular, when this same 
neighbor went out, he again met the old man, who, 
in spite of the cold and late hour, was walking 
within a few steps of the hotel. He seemed to be 
watching and waiting for some one. 

All this was very vague ; and these details, in 
any case, would only become important in relation 
with the news that might come from the town M. 
Rumigny came from.. 

M. de Fourmel, who did not lack skill, resolved 
to wait for it before going farther in his investiga- 
tion, in order to have no hinderance in his plan 


94 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


which he might afterwards perhaps have to change 
from beginning to end. 

Several days passed, therefore, without the affair 
progressing a single step. 

The examining magistrate authorized the dead 
man to be ^buried, and, after visiting the scene of 
the crime, permitted the concierges in the Rue Mar- 
lot to remove the bloody traces of the tragedy of 
the night of the 3d of March. 

The young magistrate, before resuming his work, 
waited till he received answers from the towns to 
which he applied. One morning, however, one 
piece of news was received which gave him per- 
fect satisfaction, and proved that William Dow was 
right. 


SHOWS WHO WAS THE VICTIM. 


95 


CHAPTER IX. 

SHOWS WHO WAS THE VICTIM OF NO. 1 3, AND 
WHERE HE CAME FROM. 

M. Rumigny really came from one of the East- 
ern towns. A report giving the most exact and 
interesting particulars about the unfortunate man 
came from the central commissioner at Rheims. 
This is the document in all its official dryness : — 

M. Rumigny was very well known and much esteemed 
at Rheims. After having made quite a fine fortune in the 
manufacture of textiles, he had retired from business. Hav- 
ing been a widower for some years, he lived with his only 
daughter, whom he adored. This young girl suddenly dis- 
appeared, nine or ten months ago, carried off, it was said at 
that time, by a certain Balterini, an Italian musician, whom 
her father had been so imprudent as to introduce into his 
house as a teacher of singing. 

“ M. Rumigny always denied the fact, asserting that the 
climate of the South had been ordered for his daughter 
Margaret, who lived in the environs of Florence with an old 
relative. No one believed the story; the departure of this 
Balterini, who had been at Rheims for three months, having 
coincided with Mile. Rumigny’s disappearance. 

“ The father did not complain : Mile. Rumigny was 
twenty years old, and the police had no need to concern 
themselves in the matter. But since that time M. Rumigny 
had greatly changed. His disposition, which had previously 
been irascible and violent, became gloomy and shy. He 


96 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


ceased to receive his friends, no longer spoke his daughter’s 
name, and about a month ago suddenly left the town without 
telling any one of his departure or plans. 

“ M. Rumigny has but one near relative here, — M. 
Adolphe Morin, his nephew, the son of a sister quite a num- 
ber of years older than himself, for M. Morin is nearly fifty. 
There had been talk of a marriage between this nephew, 
whose father and mother had been dead some time, and his 
cousin Mile. Margaret; but the young girl refused the offer, 
and it was said that her refusal greatly irritated her father. 

“ M. Morin, whom we have questioned, showed himself 
very reserved on this point. All that we could obtain from 
him was that in the month of February last he made a jour- 
ney to Paris, where he met his uncle, whom he could not 
prevail upon to return to Rheims. M. Morin cannot tell us 
whether M. Rumigny knew at that time what had become of 
his daughter ; for he refused to make any explanations on 
this subject. 

“The other relatives of M. Rumigny are distant ones 
who could furnish no information as to his intentions. The 
search made in the house of the deceased has not led to 
the discovery of any document of a nature to explain the 
motive of his departure, -or to put the officers of the law on 
the tracks of the murderer.” 

The report of the central commissioner of 
Rheims said no more. There were but few words 
about this Balterini, as one sees. Therefore the 
Paris court must find the truth by its own means. 

M. Adolphe Morin, who appeared on the death 
of his uncle, in order to obtain authority to con- 
vey his body to Rheims, went to M. de Fourmel to 
give him valuable information. 

The first visit of M. de Rumigny’s nephew was 
to the examining magistrate. He did not even 


SHOWS WHO WAS THE VICTIM, 97 

wait for the latter to invite him to his office, and 
his explanations confirmed the magistrate in his 
conviction that Balterini was really the old man’s 
assassin. They did still more : they made him 
suspect the complicity of the young girl, M. Morin 
having told him that Margaret and her father had 
for a long time lived in great discord, and M. 
Rumigny often complained of the little regard and 
affection that his child had for him. 

For more than a year before the murder, the 
young girl had been melancholy, and the excitabil- 
ity of which she had given many proofs in her 
youth increased. She remained shut up at home 
for whole days, refusing to see her father’s friends, 
or to go out with him, and obstinately rejecting 
every marriage-offer. 

As for the Italian, M. Morin saw him arrive 
at M. Rumigny’s with considerable apprehension : 
he respectfully pointed out to his uncle the danger 
to his daughter in this intimacy ; but the old man 
was obstinate, and perfectly infatuated with the 
artist, and merely shrugged his shoulders in an- 
swer to him. When he opened his eyes a few 
months after, it was too late. He sent away Bal- 
terini, it is true, but after a violent scene of which 
M. Morin was witness. The Italian swore ven- 
geance as he left, and on the evening of that scene 
Mile. Rumigny disappeared. 

M. Morin was not aware pf what had passed 
between the father and daughter after the musi- 
cian’s departure ; but in spite of all the reserve, 


98 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

hesitation, and regret with which he had given 
these details, in spite of all the extenuations which 
he tried to make for his cousin, who in his estima- 
tion was guilty, M. de Fourmel learned enough to 
come to the logical conclusion that the murder in 
the Rue Marlot was denownejit of the family 
tragedy, of which the public had received only the 
faint echoes. 

This first point settled, which was an important 
basis for the case, the magistrate let his plan of 
campaign rest. 

The detective service was put in search ; and 
the first thing was to find out what had become of 
Balterini. 

Two detectives were placed in charge of the 
Rue Marlot, and ordered to watch it day and night, 
in the hope that the assassin would not fail to pass 
there some time or another, by virtue of that irre- 
sistible attraction that almost always leads crimi- 
nals to the neighborhood of the scene of their 
crimes. 

Then M. de Fourmel searched France for Bal- 
terini ; but after following his traces and those of 
Mile. Rumigny from Rheims to Paris, and from 
Paris to Havre, they could not be found again. 
The magistrate was sure that he had the fugitives 
in two strangers who stopped at the Hotel du Nord 
on the 2d of June. They remained there only a 
week, and went to live in furnished lodgings at 
No. 47 in the Rue de TEst, to suddenly disappear 
towards the 15 th of October. 


SJIOIVS WHO WAS TME VICTIM, 


99 


At that date M. de Fourmel again found the 
two lovers at Havre at the Hotel de Normandie. 
There again they remained only a few days. Since 
then no one knew what had become of them. 

The information furnished by the police did not 
go beyond this. Trace of them had not been dis- 
covered on any of the embarking lists of that time. 

Did the Italian go alone, and did his .mistress 
join him later ? Did they go together, or first one, 
then the other ? It was impossible to find out 
this for a certainty. 

And yet the evidence pointed to two strangers, 
both of whom being young and handsome could 
not have passed, unperceived, even in the midst of 
the floating population of Havre, if they had re- 
mained some time in that city. 

M. de Fourmel was then convinced that they 
had taken passage separately on board of some 
ship. 

Their search became extremely difficult, and it 
was necessary to arm themselves with patience ; 
ior-it was only by applying to our foreign consuls 
that they could hope to discover them some day 
in three or four months, even later perhaps. 

Besides, this supposition of Balterini's departure 
in the month of October no longer made him ap- 
pear to be M. Rumigny’s murderer; and, during 
all the time it would require for the steps t6 be 
taken abroad, the murderer would have ample time 
to escape. 

M. de Fourmel was therefore quite vexed ; for 


lOO 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


his vanity suffered at the thought that he would 
soon be obliged perhaps to put by the affair with 
which he was charged for future consideration. 

So, while admitting the departure and conse- 
quently the innocence of Balterini, he enjoyed the 
plausible consideration of this second hypothesis 
that Mile. Rumigny’s lover had not left France, 
but was hiding in some out-of-the-way place ; per- 
haps even that he had simply remained in Paris, 
where criminals find a safe shelter more easily 
than anywhere else. 

The young girl had taken with her but a few. 
dresses, her jewels, and perhaps a thousand francs 
which she had from her father. Balterini had not 
laid by much, and he could not therefore long 
remain idle ; and, as his musical talent was his 
only resource, he would be forced some day or 
another to make use of it. 

This is what M. de Fourmel thought, in order 
to console himself for his first failure ; and he 
spared no measure calculated to discover sooner 
or later Mile. Rumigny's lover. The detectives 
searched Paris and the provinces, went to balls, 
theatres, cafe concerts, and all the places, in short, 
where the Italian could have possibly found em- 
ployment. 

During this time Master Picot was still track- 
ing William Dow, but with total loss of time : 
none of the American’s movements gave grounds 
for the least fanciful suspicions of the detective. 
The unhappy man dared not return to M. Meslin, 


SHOWS WHO WAS THE VICTIM. 


lOI 


who never met him without reproaching him for 
having allowed himself to be duped like a novice 
in the Rue Vandrezanne. 

The police-commissioner did not give up. He 
was convinced that Mr. Dow was not a stranger 
to the crime in the Rue Marlot ; and he watched 
him, resolved to ask M. de Fourmel to arrest him 
on the day that he should show himself disposed 
to leave Paris. 


102 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT, 


CHAPTER X. 

IN WHICH CHANCE COMES TO THE AID OF M. DE 
FOURMEL. 

Nearly a month had thus elapsed, without 
bringing any useful information to the manage- 
ment ; and for a while nothing more was heard of 
the tragedy of the night of the 3d of March, 
when, one morning, M. de Fourmel, who went to 
make a visit in the Place Royale, passed through 
the Rue Marlot on his way to the boulevards. 

No. 13 had resumed its former quiet appearance. 
The door was open, and the young magistrate could 
not resist his desire to enter ; but, just as he was 
about to go into Bernier’s office, he had to move 
aside to allow a young woman to pass, who was 
carrying a babe in her arms. 

It is Mine. Bernard,” said the concierge quick- 
ly, in a low voice, bowing to the magistrate whom 
he recognized : you remember the lady who was 
so ill at the time of the murder.” 

‘‘ Does she know what has happened } ” asked 
M. de Fourmel, remembering that Mme. Bernard 
was the only person in the house whom he had 
not questioned. 

‘^Dear me! no, sir,” answered the concierge: 


CHANCE AIDS M, DE FOUR MEL. 103 

the poor little woman is so easily affected that we 
have not yet told her, but she will learn all before 
long. To-day is only the third or fourth time that 
she has gone out. She is still very weak.*’ 

She is a widow, one of your lodgers told me, 
Capt. Martin, I believe.” 

''Yes, sir.” 

" Did her husband die at your house ? ” 

" No, sir. Mme. Bernard was in mourning when 
she came to hire of us. It was the venerable 
curate of Saint Denis, who recommended her.” 

" Call her, I beg, and ask her to come into your 
room.” 

" What, you wish ” — 

" Oh, a simple' formality ! I must finish my re- 
port on this affair ; and it is indispensable that 
Mme. Bernard’s deposition should be part of it, 
however insignificant she may be. I will thus 
save the lady from coming to my office.” 

While saying this, M. de Fourmel had drawn 
several papers from his pocket,^ among which was 
an envelope containing a photograph. 

Bernier, having hastened to obey, returned in a 
few moments accompanied by Mme. Bernard, who 
was trembling at the thought of appearing before 
a stranger. The old soldier had not dared to tell 
her what it was about. 

"I ask your pardon, madame, for delaying your 
walk a few moments,” said M de Fourmel to the 
young woman very politely ; " but my duties oblige 
me to ask you a few questions.” 


104 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

‘‘ I am at your command, sir,'' answered Mme. 
Bernard, pressing her child to her bosom ; for the 
grave air of her questioner, the word ‘"duties" 
which he had pronounced, and her own situation, 
— a situation particularly delicate, that of a woman 
without a husband or protector, — disturbed her 
not a little. 

“ Re-assure yourself, madame," the magistrate 
hastened to add, perceiving her emotion : “ it is 
only about a matter of which you know nothing. 
I will speak of it at once to re-assure you." 

And he rapidly told the young woman of the 
tragedy that had taken place a few steps from her 
apartment a month before. 

“ Oh, the poor man ! " cried Mme. Bernard when 
the magistrate had finished his story : “ does no 
one know his name, or who was his murderer V' 

“ No, we do not yet know the assassin's name : 
we only know that of the victim. He was an 
excellent, worthy man, M. Rumigny of Rheims." 

At this name Mme. Bernard answered with a 
terrible shriek, and sprang from her seat. Her 
lips trembled, her eyes were haggard, and her face 
suddenly was covered with a livid pallor. Had it 
not been for Bernier, who received her in his arms, 
she would have fallen to the floor with her child. 

“What is the matter, madame.^" asked M. de 
Fourmel, overcome with surprise, but now believ- 
ing that chance was coming to his aid to give him 
the key to this bloody enigma which he had sought 
in vain for several weeks. “Do you happen to 
know M. Rumigny } " 


CHANCE AIDS M, DE FOURMEL. 105 

He is my father, sir,^^ gasped Mme. Bernard, 
her voice broken by sobs. Oh ! I could not 
have heard aright. It is not about him. It is not 
M. Rumigny of Rheims, who” — 

It is he, madame, whose body was found life- 
less almost on the threshold of your door,” he an- 
swered with a dryness which indicated that the 
man of society had suddenly changed places with 
the judge. . 

Mme. Bernard did not notice the sudden trans- 
formation that had taken place in the magistrate’s 
tone and attitude. Giving her daughter to Ber- 
nier’s wife, who had just entered, she fell on a seat, 
and closed her eyes. 

She seemed at the point of death ; her lips trem- 
bled as she uttered some inarticulate words ; tears 
streamed down her thin cheeks ; and sobs stifled 
her voice. 

The concierge gently placed the sleeping child 
upon her bed. 

M. de Fourmel, who was calm and grave, was 
taking pencil notes in his copy-book, looking 
sternly at Mme. Bernard now and then. 

The Berniers dared not utter a word. 

This terrible silence had already lasted several 
moijients, when M. de Fourmel gave an order in a 
low voice to the old soldier, whom he had called to 
the threshold of the room. 

The worthy man went out, closing the door of 
the house behind him. 

Mme. Bernard slowly came to herself. 


lo6 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

When she opened her eyes, and recognized the 
man who had just made her the frightful revela- 
tion of her father s murder, she understood that 
she was not the sport of a dream, but the victim 
of a horrible reality. 

The magistrate left her a few moments more to 
recover, then approached her. She was frightened 
as she saw him draw near. 

Then you are Mile. Margaret Rumigny ? 

‘‘Yes, sir,” she murmured, veiling with her 
hands the blush that had covered her face. 

“I regret,” continued M. de Fourmel, “that I 
must disturb you in your grief, but it is necessary 
that I should make a search in your apartments.” 

Mme. Bernard, or rather Mile. Rumigny, raised 
her frightened eyes to her questioner. It was 
evident that she had not understood him. 

“ It is indispensable,” he resumed, weighing 
each one of his words, “ that I assure myself, by 
examining your papers, if there is not some docu- 
ment of . a nature to put the officers of the law on 
the tracks of your father's assassin.” 

“ In my papers } Traces of my father's assassin ? 
You have then suspicions ? ” 

“I cannot answer you.” 

“ Then you are going to read my letters ? ” 

“It is my duty, mademoiselle.” 

“ Never, sir, never ! ” cried Margaret in an 
agony of terror. “ My letters belong to me. What 
do you wish to learn from them ? ” 

“ I have just told you that it was my duty. No 
one has the right to oppose me." 


CHANCE AIDS M. DE FOUR A/EL, 


107 


‘‘ Who are you, then, sir ? 

“I am the examining magistrate charged with 
discovering and delivering to justice the murderer 
of M. de Rumigny, and his accomplices, if there 
are any.’' 

‘'The examining magistrate, justice, the mur- 
derer ! ” 

While speaking these words in bewildered tones. 
Mile. Rumigny had arisen, and was looking with 
fright on the man to whom the law gave the right 
to search the depths of her heart. She felt as if 
she were going mad. 

Mother Bernier tried in vain to calm her. A 
ring of the bell interrupted for a moment this 
painful scene. 

The concierge hastened to open the door. 

It was her husband returning with M. Meslin. 

The police-commissioner, whom Bernier had 
acquainted with what was passing, bowed to the 
magistrate, and placed himself at his command. 

“ We are waiting for you, madame,” said M. de 
Fourmel to the young woman. 

“For me; why, pray ” asked the unhappy 
woman. 

“To make the necessary search in your rooms. 
Monsieur is the police-commissioner of this dis- 
trict : he will assist me in my search.” 

“Ah, it is my punishment ! ” murmured Mile. 
Rumigny. 

Then, with sad resignation, as if her mind were 
made up, she added, — 


lo8 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

Very well, sir : here are the keys of my apart- 
ment and of my desk/' 

‘'It is necessary that you should accompany us," 
said M. de Fourmel. “This search should be 
made in your presence." 

“ Very well," she groaned. 

And taking up her little girl, who was still sleep- 
ing on the concierge s bed, she left the room first, 
followed by the commissioner and the magistrate. 

When she reached her rooms, she put her child 
to sleep in her cradle, sank into an arm-chair, and, 
presenting her keys to M. de Fourmel, said to 
him, — 

“ Do as you will, sir." 

The apartment comprised a dining-room, a very 
small parlor, and a sleeping-room. 

She led her self-invited visitors into the latter 
room, whose furniture consisted of a bed, a small 
bureau-secretary, a few chairs, and a large table, 
on which were scattered books and a quantity of 
small articles used by the nurse. 

All was neat and choice though modest. It 
was evident that it was the abode of a woman who 
had been delicately brought up, and had quiet, re- 
fined habits. 

In the first drawer of the secretary which M. 
de Fourmel opened, he found only unimportant 
papers, receipts of rent, certificates of the birth 
and baptism of the child, and various notes ; but 
in the second he perceived a voluminous pack- 
age sealed with wax, and on which was written, 


CHANCE AIDS M. DE, FOUR MEL. 109 

To be destroyed after my death ; ” then a large 
envelope also sealed, and bearing this address, 
To M. Rumigny, Rue de Talleyrand, at Rheims 
(Marne).’' 

What are these papers } ” the magistrate asked 
Mile. Rumigny. 

‘‘ One of these envelopes encloses a letter that 
was intended for my father,” answered the young 
woman sobbing. 

And the other } ” 

‘‘ They are the letters of ” — 

Of M. Balterini } ” 

Mile. Rumigny answered affirmatively, lowering 
her head. 

You must authorize me, mademoiselle, to break 
these seals, and open these letters.” 

Read these letters } ” cried M. Rumigny’s 
daughter. Never ! ” 

And the unhappy woman sprang forward as if 
to snatch the papers from the magistrate’s hands ; 
but emotion, grief, and shame paralyzed her again, 
and she fell back on a chair in blind terror. 

At this plainly expressed opposition, M. de 
Fourmel could not repress a movement of ill- 
humor which indicated his disappointment. This 
can be understood ; for he found himself face to 
face with one of those complex questions which 
the legislator has not plainly solved. 

In fact, the law which gives such unlimited 
authority to the magistrates, which arms them 
with power, which is so necessary and at the same 


no 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


time so terrible, authorizes them to seize and read 
papers and letters only at the house of the accused. 

Now, such was not Mile. Rumigny's situation. 
Besides, have even the officers of the law the right 
to break open the sealed papers they find at the 
homes of the accused or at the post-office } 

The criminal code is silent in some respects on 
this subject. Though a majority of magistrates 
interpret the articles 87 and 88 of this same code 
in favor of the right, certain writers limit the right 
to seize and read open letters ; and M. Faustin 
Helie himself believes that it would be better to 
act with consideration for those accused. 

It may, then, be said that no other than the one 
to whom the sealed letters are addressed, or the 
author of them, has the right to open them unless, 
of course, they are addressed to or come from one 
under sentence ; that correspondence, in short, 
between individuals suspected or under a surveil- 
lance of which they are aware, and which conse- 
quently they wilfully defy, shall not be carried on. 

But, in fact, in a search, however much the 
magistrate may desire to open a letter, he cannot. 

Free to use persuasion to obtain permission 
from such persons to break the seal, he is allowed 
no more by the law. The secret of letters is sacred 
and inviolable. 

And yet, strange forgetfulness 1 The code does 
not foresee and punish this violation, except when 
it is committed by an officer or by a postal-clerk. 
It is neither a crime nor an offence by any one else. 


CHANCE AIDS M. DE FOURMEL. 


Ill 


M. de Fourmel was then greatly embarrassed ; 
for, notwithstanding the faults of pride and of char- 
acter which we have pointed out, he was an honest 
man and an upright magistrate in every sense of 
the word, and he was not unaware of the slight 
but impassable barrier which Margaret opposed 
to him. 

'‘Very well, mademoiselle,” said he curtly, "you 
can refuse to allow me to read these letters ; but 
you must understand that I am free to interpret 
your refusal, since here under these seals are the 
proofs of the crime, and I am commissioned to 
find those guilty of it and their accomplices. Now, 
you have confessed to me that these letters were 
from Balterini, and addressed to you.” 

At the conclusion, which she foresaw, Margaret 
suddenly rose pale and trembling, and, springing 
towards the magistrate, snatched rather than took 
the letters, tore open their envelopes, and, throw- 
ing them on the table, cried, — 

" There, sir, read, read them all ! Oh, not before 
me!” 

"I thank you, mademoiselle,” , said M. de Four- 
mel, gathering up the papers. " I shall carry away 
these letters, but I shall defer the reading to 
another time. They shall all be returned to you 
if there is nothing in them which ought to appear 
in the case. Have the kindness now to sign this 
official report, and hold yourself in readiness to be 
called upon by the court.” 

Hardly knowing what she did, the young woman 


II2 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT, 


signed where M. Meslin pointed. A few moments 
later, when alone with her child, she kneeled by 
the side of its cradle, murmuring, — 

‘'Heaven is just: it is I who killed. him. My 
God, protect us ! 

Before separating from the commissioner, the 
magistrate said to him, — 

“Watch over this woman, and at her first 
attempt to escape arrest her : I will send you a war- 
rant. However, do not execute it unless I order 
you to do so, or unless Mile. Rumigny makes prep- 
arations for departure.’' 

M. Meslin simply answered, — 

“ Sir, your instructions will be followed to the 
letter.” 

Then, with a kind of jealous satisfaction, he said 
to himself on returning to his office, — 

“And M. de Fourmel does not once think of 
this American, who lives just opposite Mile. Ru- 
migny, and whose room is near that occupied by 
the old man. However, it is not possible that 
chance alone brings about such coinciding circum- 
stances : fortunately I see through it.” 

Delighted at the discovery which he owed to his 
good fortune, but which he attributed none the 
less to his merit, M. de Fourmel returned quickly 
home to read the letters seized at Mile. Rumigny’s. 
The one that was apart from the rest, in an en- 
velope addressed to the unfortunate merchant, was 
very long. 

After explaining to her father how she sue- 


CHANCE AIDS M. DE FOUR MEL. 1 13 

cumbed to her love for Balterini, the young girl 
concluded thus : — 

'' I shall pay for this fault, father, with my life 
perhaps. Yes, I feel that I shall die, — die alone 
without a friend or relation near me. Will you 
not forgive me ? Oh ! I beg you, do not curse 
your daughter ; grant one regret for her memory ; 
she is dying more from the remorse at the sorrow 
she has caused you than from her own sufferings. 
I implore you to have my body taken to Rheims, 
and let me be buried near my poor sainted mother, 
who, I am sure, is praying for me in heaven. If 
God wishes my child to survive me, do not spurn, 
but watch over it. It is innocent ; take care of it 
— I dare not say from affection, but at least from 
pity.” 

Farewell, father. When you will receive this 
letter, she whom you called your little Margot 
will be no more. Once more, forgive her.’^ 

Here and there the handwriting in this letter 
was partly effaced by tears. It was dated Feb. 5 , 
and had therefore been written about twenty days 
before the young woman’s illness, and nearly a 
month before the violent death of him to whom it 
was addressed. 

The other letters were all from the same hand, 
and concluded besides with the same signature, 
Robert. There were about thirty, that followed in 
succession from time to time, till the i8th of Octo- 
ber of the preceding year. 

It was very easy to conclude that it was at this 


1 14 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

time, that the lovers parted at Havre, whence Mile. 
Rumigny returned alone to establish herself at 
Paris, owing to the recommendation of the curate 
of the parish of Saint Denis. 

Unfortunately for justice, this venerable priest, 
the Abbe Mouriez, had already been dead three 
months. 

What was Balterini doing while Mile. Rumigny 
returned to Paris ? His correspondence intimated 
that he had waited at Havre for a favorable occa- 
sion to go to New York or Philadelphia, to place 
himself under an impressario who had engaged him 
as the leader of an orchestra. 

Margaret’s condition did not allow her to take 
this long voyage : besides, she would never have 
been able to make up her mind to leave France 
without seeing her father again. It was in order 
to be near the latter that she had preferred to 
await Balterini’s return at Paris rather than at 
Havre. 

The letters of this Italian, which permitted M. 
de Fourmel to connect these facts, were full of 
love for Margaret, and overflowed with hatred 
against M. Rumigny. 

“ No, never,” said the musician in one of these 
letters, will I forgive your father for having made 
us two pariahs, obliged to hide like criminals ; 
never, above all, will I forgive him for having sac- 
rificed you, not only for the pride of a rich bour- 
geois, but for his love which is less paternal than 
tyrannical and jealous. Through affection for 


CHANCE AIDS M, DE FOURMEL. 115 

you, I have been able to endure the shame of his 
insults, and be silent ; but may God not let him 
cross my path, for I do not know if I could again 
be master of my anger and resentment.” 

‘'Ah, how much I must love you, Margaret, 
to check my pen, and impose silence on my fury ! 
And to think that this man could make us happy 
by one word, and he separates us ! And to think 
that if I do not find the means to remain here 
without danger, or to join you, I must leave you 
for months, because it pleases M. Rumigny not to 
think me worthy to marry into his family ! Only 
one sentiment equals my love for you, and that is 
my hatred towards him. May God forgive him ! 
as for me, I shall remember him forever.” 

M. de Fourmel read this correspondence with 
the greatest attention ; and nothing gave evidence 
of Balterini's guilt, till he came to the middle of 
the last letter, when the following phrases sud- 
denly changed his suspicions to certainty. 

“ Oh, certainly, my dearest ! ” wrote the Italian. 
“ I will profit one of these nights by the means 
you suggest to reach you without being spen by 
any one. What a happy idea it was of yours to 
tell me about the signal between M. Tissot and 
the concierges ! I shall take care to arrive at even- 
ing’, and stop at that hotel which is just opposite 
your house. I shall take a room looking on the 
street, one on the second story if possible, I mean 
opposite you. I shall see you from my window, 
and you will make a sign to me when it is time. 


Ii6 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

Fear nothing : you will not be compromised. You 
would not recognize me, I have suffered so much 
since we parted. Ah, may nothing come between 
us again, even your father! You are mine, — 
mine alone ; and I would defend my treasure 
against God himself. I shall see you soon, adored 
one. I shall not leave till I have a despatch from 
you.’' 

This letter, as well as two or three others, was 
not dated. 

Now I understand all,” thought M. de Four- 
mel, after having studied each word of this letter. 
‘‘ Balterini did not leave for America, as he at first 
intended : he remained at Havre or in the envi- 
rons. Mile. Rumigny’s stay here at Paris was only 
a ruse, a pretended separation from him ; but when 
she called him he came to Paris, gained an entrance 
into the house, met M. Rumigny and the accom- 
plice, — unintentional perhaps, but still his accom- 
plice, since she alone could point out to her father 
how to reach her apartment. She cannot be igno- 
rant of where her lover is to-day ; and she must 
tell.”^ ' 

And, full of confidence in his deductions, the 
magistrate signed a warrant which he immediately 
sent to M. Meslin, with the order to put it into 
execution the next morning. 


PICOT AND DOW MEET AGAIN 


117 


CHAPTER XI. 

MASTER PICOT AND WILLIAM DOW MEET AGAIN. 

Almost at the same hour, Mile. Rumigny, thanks 
to Mme. Bernier’s care, having recovered from the 
prostration into which grief and shame had plunged 
her, dismissed the good woman that she might be 
alone. 

She then approached the cradle where her babe 
was sleeping, gazed at it a long while, and leaned 
over to touch her lips to its cheeks for a moment, 
then arose. 

If M. de Fourmel had been there, he would not 
have recognized the unhappy woman who had 
trembled at his sharp, threatening voice. 

Her features no longer expressed despair, but a 
sudden resolution. She tossed back her beautiful 
fair hair, wiped away her tears, and passed her 
hand over her forehead, as if to drive away the 
thoughts that made her blush. 

Then she went to the little secretary where the 
magistrate found Balterini’s letters ; and, drawing 
a sheet of paper towards her, she rapidly wrote a 
few lines on it, which she put in a conspicuous 
place on the table, fastening it to the cloth with a 
pin, that it might not be blown off. 


Ii8 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


Having done-that, she wrote a second and longer 
letter, which she put into an envelope ; and, when 
she finished it, she remained motionless again, 
with her head bowed on her hands. 

The clock striking eight made her start. 

It is too soon,” she said, with a sad smile. 

The little girl had just awakened : she took her 
in her arms, gave her something to drink, and soon 
the innocent creature fell asleep again, soothed by 
the lullaby which her mother sang in a low voice. 

Mile. Rumigny put her back gently in her cradle^ 
and seated herself near her. 

The mother’s calmness was alarming. 

A whole hour passed thus, when .she suddenly 
roused herself from her torpor, put on her bonnet 
in a second, threw a cloak over her shoulders, took 
her child, which she wrapped warmly in a shawl, 
and descended the stairs with a firm step. 

‘‘What!, are you going out ” asked the con- 
cierge in the greatest surprise. 

■ “ I am going as far as the apothecary’s for 
ether,” answered Mile. Rumigny. 

“ Do you not wish Bernier to go for you ? You 
can wait for him here at the fireside.” 

“ No, thanks : it will do me good to get a little 
air.” 

And, drawing her cloak around her daughter, 
the young mother crossed the threshold of the 
house, the concierge opening the door for her. 

She turned to the left as she proceeded to the 
Place Royale, which she crossed rapidly ; and, 


PICOT AND DOW MEET AGAIN 119 

going through the Rue de Birague to the Rue 
Beautreillis, she went down as far as the Quai 
Henri IV. 

In spite of the late hour, the place was not 
deserted. A number of men were at work in 
front of the warehouses in the city. 

She hastened her steps, and soon reached the 
Austerlitz Bridge. 

The night was dark, and no one was passing 
thro-ugh the environs. Margaret had hardly 
taken ten steps on the bridge, and was approach- 
ing the parapet, when she suddenly felt herself 
seized by the arm. 

Leave me ! ’’ groaned the unhappy woman in 
a choked voice. 

‘‘ That you may throw yourself into the water 
with your child } Never,^^ answered the unknown, 
who had followed her from the Rue Marlot with- 
out her perceiving if. 

Well, yes, I wish to die. What is it to you } 

Much more than you think. Come, give me 
the baby, and follow me.’* 

Mile. Rumigny hung her head, and held out her 
child to the man, who was -no other than Master 
Picot, who, however, at once gave a cry of fear 
and anger. 

Profiting by the re-assurance her movement had 
given the detective, the young mother escaped 
him ; and, before he could foresee her intention, 
she had crossed the parapet, and thrown herself 
into the Seine. 


120 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


Picot heard the sound which her body made in 
plunging into the abyss, and almost immediately a 
second sound of the same nature struck his ear. 

Although he was greatly embarrassed with the 
child that was crying in his arms, he leaned eagerly 
over the river. It was so very dark that at first he 
could distinguish nothing, and perceived only the 
regular motion produced by a swimmer. 

He soon became aware that some one was com- 
ing with vigorous strokes towards the place where 
the young woman had disappeared, but letting 
himself drift a little with the current. 

The man had calculated so well, and was so 
skilful a swimmer, that he reached the spot just 
at the moment when the woman rose to the sur- 
face. 

Picot saw him raise her with one arm, and, while 
keeping her head out of water, return towards the 
shore. 

Sapristi ! he will not have stolen his twenty- 
five francs,” he murmured in the utmost admira- 
tion. He is a regular Newfoundland dog.” 

On leaving the bridge, he ran along the quay 
to reach the bank, which fortunately was dry. 

Three or four minutes later Margaret's preserver, 
aided by the detective, placed her on the bank in 
a fainting condition. 

“ Run quick and get a carriage, my young man,” 
said the stranger to Picot. 

‘‘What ! is it you } ” cried the detective. 

Amazed at recognizing the voice and features of 


PICOT AND DOW MEET AGAIN 


121 


William Dow, he could not restrain this imprudent 
exclamation. 

Is it I ? what do you mean ? ” replied the Amer- 
ican with admirably feigned surprise: “have we 
ever met before ? ” 

Master Picot began to suspect, in spite of his 
vanity, that he had to do with one more shrewd 
than himself. 

Therefore he judged it prudent to change the 
subject, continuing with as much carelessness as 
possible, — 

“Ah, no! pardon, I thought — Did you say 
that you wished a carriage ? ” 

“We cannot walk home with this unfortunate 
woman in this condition. You will find a hack 
opposite Boulevard Contrescarpe, where there is a 
station, I think. Leave the child to me : you will 
go faster. Or, rather, pick up my coat which I 
have thrown on the bank, and follow me. The 
wine-shop on the corner of the Rue Lacuee must 
still be open : I will carry the poor woman there. 
While she is coming to herself, and getting warm, 
you will go for a carriage.” 

While saying this, the stranger had taken Mar- 
garet in his arms, and carried her lightly and 
quickly up the quay. 

Picot followed him, much annoyed al his singular 
burden. As he passed, he picked up Mr. Dow’s 
cloak, which the latter had thrown off to leap into 
the water ; and, one following the other, they 
reached a small shop whose patrons were quench- 
ing their thkst. 


122 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


The appearance of Mr. Dow and the detective 
caused, as can be understood, a general amazement 
in the establishment. Cries of pity were immedi- 
• ately heard, with many questions ; but the Amer- 
ican coolly and quietly said to a female attendant 
at the counter, — 

'' Permit me, madame, to carry this unfortunate 
into your room, and be so obliging as to light the 
fire.^’ 

With that native goodness peculiar to the com- 
mon classes, this woman, who was the mistress of 
the house, at once cried, — 

“ Of course you may, sir : come quickly. The 
poor creature ! ” . 

Leading the way for her unexpected visitors, she 
took them into the back-shop, in which was a large 
bed, and where a good fire was blazing, although 
it was the middle of April. But this year spring 
was backward, and the nights were still chilly. 

Mr. Dow laid Margaret gently on the bed ; and, 
as she had lost consciousness through excitement 
and not exhaustion, she was already reviving. 

While withdrawing his left arm from under Mar- 
garet’s head, the American picked up a large 
medallion of black enamel, the cord, which was 
suspended around her neck, having been broken, 
no doubt in the efforts he made to keep her above 
.the water; and, that the jewel might not be lost, 
he put it in his pocket. 

Picot, feeling much humiliated at his role of 
child’s nurse, hastened to place the baby on an 


picoT And DOW meet again. 


123 


arm-chair, her sleep having been hardly dis- 
turbed. 

Now,” said the stranger to the detective, ‘Met 
madame undress this poor lady ; and, while I dry 
myself a little, run and get a carriage.” 

The detective, who only asked to get out of the 
affair, hastened to obey, expecting it would be for 
the last time. He set off on a run, while reflect- 
ing a little according to his praiseworthy habit. 

What he could not explain to himself above all 
was the very opportune arrival of Mr. Dow, unless 
he had been on the watch at his window just at 
the moment Margaret left her house ; and this 
close watching of No. 13 on the part of the 
stranger confirmed Master Picot in his first sus- 
picions. 

Like ’all reasoners who wish to discover mysteri- 
ous causes in the most simple and natural facts, 
the detective forgot only one thing, whose occur- 
rence is so frequent, — that it was chance only 
which this time had done every thing. 

When he was returning to the hotel, William 
Dow recognized in the person who crossed the 
threshold of No. 13, although he had seen her 
but once, the lady who to every one was still Mme. 
Bernard. 

He was not aware that she had received the 
visit from M. de Fourmel ; but it seemed strange 
to him that this woman who was hardly conva- 
lescent should go out with her child at such an 
hour ; and, moved by one of those motives which 


124 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

we cannot understand, but which urged him to 
interest himself in all that related to the affair of 
the night of the 3d of March, he followed the young 
mother. 

On the corner of the Rue Marlot, seeing the 
detective follow closely in her footsteps, he fore- 
saw that some event would occur of a . nature to 
require his intervention ; and, while skilfully keep- 
ing out of sight close to the houses, he did not 
lose sight of the detective or of the young woman. 

He thus arrived on the quay just as Mile. 
Rumigny threw herself into the water ; and we 
know with what promptness he saved her. 

While Master Picot was finding a carriage, the 
wine-merchant's wife had so intelligently followed 
the American’s instructions, that, in less than five 
minutes after having been laid on the bed and 
freed from her damp clothing, Margaret had 
returned to herself. 

Mr. Dow, who, thanks to the shop, had also 
been able to make a change of clothing, quickly 
approached the woman he had snatched from death. 

With haggard eyes and trembling lips, Mile. 
Rumigny tried to recollect. 

Memory returning to her suddenly, she cried, — 
My child ! ” 

The worthy woman, who had given up her bed 
to Margaret, quickly placed the little girl in her 
arms ; and Margaret pressed the poor little being 
to her bosom, covering it with kisses. 

Then the tears which stifled her, streaming forth, 
she burst into sobs. 


PICOT AND DOW MEET AGAIN 


125 


“ Be calm, madame,^’ said William Dow to her, 
‘‘and drink this,'' presenting a glass of warm 
aromatic wine. 

Mile. Rumigny obeyed, turning a questioning 
look on the man who spoke to her kindly, and 
whom she did not know. 

“ Why did you save me } " she murmured. 
“Would it not be better that I were dead You 
do not know, then : they will say it was Robert 
who killed him. They think me guilty also, even 
me. My poor father ! No : I do not wish to live 
with this remorse. Leave me to die." 

And, pressing the crying child to her bosom, 
she tried to rise. The stranger held her back 
gently, endeavoring to re-assure her. At the same 
moment the door opened, and Picot appeared again. 

“ The carriage is here," said he. “ How is the 
little lady ? Come to herself already ! Then we 
can take her with us." 

“ I am going to take you home, madame," said 
Mr. Dow to Margaret. “ This excellent woman 
who has taken care of you will lend you linen and 
a dress. To-morrow she will call on you for them, 
and bring back your garments." 

The young woman, whose excitement was over, 
made a motion that she would do what her pre- 
server wished. The latter took the detective into 
the shop, that their presence might not embarrass 
her; and, a few moments after, Margaret, well 
wrapped, entered the hack, escorted by Picot. 
The American slipped forty francs into the hand 
of the woman in the shop, saying, — 


126 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

It is not to pay for your hospitality, but to 
buy playthings for your children.’’ 

On entering the carriage, where the detective 
had already taken his seat, he gave this order to 
the coachman, — 

Rue Marlot, No. 13.” 

The hack had just left the Rue Beautreillis to 
cross the Rue Sainte Antoine, when Picot, who 
till then had remained motionless in his corner, 
turned the driver’s signal-button. 

The coachman obeyed, driving up to the side- 
walk. 

“ What are you going to do } ” asked William 
Dow of his travelling companion. 

‘‘ You will see. I am going to stop,” answered 
M. Meslin’s emissary with an ironical smile, which 
the darkness hid from his questioner. 

What for.?” 

Because we are not going to the Rue Marlot.” 

‘‘ Where are we going, then .? ” 

‘‘To the Permanence'* 

“ The Permanence ! What is that ? ” 

“ It is the office where we take persons who are 
under arrest and before their commitment.” 

“Well.?” 

“ Well, I have here, in my pocket, an order for 
the arrest of madame. I intended not to put it 
into execution till to-morrow morning ; but since, 
after what has passed, I am not sure of finding her 
at home again, I wish to perform my mission 
now.” 


PICOT AND DOW MEET AGAIN. 


127 


Why this warrant ? ” 

** Ah ! that does not concern me. All that I can 
tell you is that it is signed by M. de Fourmel, the 
magistrate charged with the management of the 
assassination case in No. 13.'' 

The detective intentionally emphasized the last 
words, in the hope that they would draw from the 
American some movement of su];prise of a nature 
to betray him ; but, as usual, Mr. Dow lost nothing 
of his coolness. 

As for her whose fate was buffeted about be- 
tween these two men, she listened and heard with- 
out understanding. It was evident that reason 
was forsaking her. 

Do you think,’' resumed the stranger, ^‘that I 
have fished up this poor woman to let you take her 
to prison } ” 

‘‘ I do not pretend it was for that reason ; but 
you will not oppose it. Besides, it would be use- 
less ; for I should call two policemen, and force 
would yield to law.” 

‘Wery well,” said Mr. Dow, understanding that 
all resistance would be -useless and compromising. 

Do your duty. But you will allow me to accom- 
pany you there. I have the right, at least, to fol- 
low till the end the woman whom I have saved. 
I wish to assure myself that the law is carried 
out.” 

Oh, certainly !” answered Picot, who did not 
expect such submission on the part of his personal 
enemy. 


128 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

And, leaning out of the door, he called to the 
coachman, — 

‘‘To the Permanence, Rue du Harlay, by the 
way of the Quai de la Conciergerie.’' 

The carriage then resumed its course. 


AT THE PERMANENCE, 


129 


CHAPTER XII. 

AT THE PERMANENCE. 

Ten minutes later the hack stopped at the place 
indicated ; that is to say, at one of the doors of 
that horrible mass of old buildings which then 
enclosed the innumerable offices of the prefecture 
of police. 

Picot sprang to the ground first ; and William 
Dow followed to assist Margaret to alight, who 
moved mechanically, hardly conscious of her acts. 

The office of the Permanence was at that time 
on the ground-floor at the left of the large wooden 
staircase with steep damp steps which led to the 
first story and to the long glass gallery which one 
must follow to the right and left, to enter the inex- 
tricable labyrinth of stairs, doors, passages, and 
lobbies leading to the various offices of the admin- 
istration. 

The misguided men of the i8th of March 
burned these buildings, which were a shame to 
Paris. They had especial reasons for doing this. 
It was the only intelligent crime they committed. 

Oh ! you can accompany me if you feel inter- 
ested,” said Picot ironically to William Dow, 
pointing out the door of the office where his busi- 
ness called him. 


130 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

And taking Mile. Rumigny’s arm, who obeyed 
mechanically, he walked on as if acquainted with 
the building. 

The American followed. 

They at first entered a dingy vestibule, and 
crossed a small room in which two or three guard- 
ians of the peace were sleeping near a large porce- 
lain stove. They next entered a rather large room, 
divided into two parts by a wooden gate as high 
as the elbow, and polished by friction. 

On one side were four writing-desks placed back 
to back on two large tables, and shelves filled with 
registers ; on the other were benches ranged along 
the wall, and a fireplace in the Prussian style 
where a coal-fire was smoking; and two lamps gave 
more of a disagreeable odor than of light in this 
gloomy place. 

It was not the prison, but an ante-room to it ; 
and called the PeTynanence, because a clerk and his 
secretary were there night and day. 

The ministers of justice ought always to be as 
active as crime itself. Since arrests are likely to 
be made at any hour, the lock-up must always re- 
main open. So it was through the Permanence 
that all those who are received or kept in dur- 
ance must pass, before the prefecture of police or 
the court have determined their further fate. 

As might be supposed, there are two clerks and 
two secretaries for this service, who are relieved 
once in twenty-four hours. 

At the sound of steps of new-comers, the clerk 


AT THE PERMANENCE, 1 31 

of the evening before, who was sleeping with his 
elbows on one of the desks, raised his head, and 
held out his hand mechanically. 

Picot handed him, unfolded, the warrant which 
M. Meslin had charged him to execute, a few 
moments after receiving it himself from M. de 
Fourmel. 

What is your name } the clerk asked the 
young woman curtly, while looking at the warrant 
with eyes but half opened. 

Mile. Rumigny did not answer. 

Leaning against the balustrade which separated 
the two parts of the room, for without this sup- 
port she would not have been able to stand, and 
with her child pressed against her bosom, she 
looked without seeing, and heard without under- 
standing. 

Though her body had returned to life, her mind 
seemed dead. 

Do you hear ? I am talking to you,'' repeated 
the clerk : what is your name ? " 

‘‘ Don't you understand ? " said Picot in his 
turn, shaking her by her arm. “You are asked 
what your name is." 

“ What ? what do you want of me ? " murmured 
Margaret. “ Leave me." 

She took a step backwards as if to fly ; but the 
detective barred the way. 

“ Ah ! it is a crazy woman you have brought 
here," said the officer, shrugging his shoulders. 
“You should have said so” And, without taking 


132 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

further notice of the young woman, he began to 
fill out the blanks of a printed paper which he had 
before him. 

Silent and motionless, Mr. Dow did not lose one 
of the details of this painful scene. 

Accompany the detective and the prisoner to 
the station,'’ the clerk said to one of the guards 
when he had finished his writing. 

And he held out an order to Picot couched in 

Police Headquarters. 
Municipal Police. 

The Captain of the Station will receive 
the so-called Margaret Rumigny (and 
child). 

Aged 

Born at 

Department of 

To be kept here until ordered otherwise. 
Paris, April 5, 18 . 

For the principal inspector, 

Romain. 

The said Romain had to leave several lines in 
blank, since Mile. Rumigny had not answered his 
questions ; but, as he thought he was dealing with 
a crazy woman, he was but little disturbed by this. 

‘'Well, come ! ” said the officer to his prisoner. 

“We must at least take her child from her,’’ 
observed the clerk, moved by a feeling of human- 
ity. 

This threat seemed to call Margaret suddenly 
to herself. 


these words : — 


OFFICE 

OF THE 

PERMANENCE. 


Warrant 
drawn up by 

the examining magistrate, 
De Fourmel. 


AT THE PERMANENCE, 


133 


‘‘ My child !” she cried; ‘‘take my child from 
me ! What are you going to do to me ? 

And wrapping the little creature in her shawl, 
as if she wished to hide her from every eye, she 
pressed her to her bosom. 

Picot, feeling very much embarrassed, especially 
on account of the American's presence, began to 
regret not having deferred the service of his war- 
rant until the next day. But he must finish it 
now. 

“No," he said to the young woman, “your child 
shall not be taken from you, only you must obey." 

He took Mile. Rumigny by one arm, and drew 
her gently towards the office-door, and she submis- 
sively allowed herself to be led. 

The promise that had been made her rendered 
her indifferent to every other misfortune. 

Mr. Dow had drawn near her; and just as he 
supported her, as she descended the three steps of 
the Permanence y he whispered quickly in her ear, — 

“ Courage, madame : I will not desert you." 

Margaret recognized the voice of her preserver, 
and answered, — 

“ You see that it were better to have let me die." 

“ A pretty defender she will have there ! " 
thought the detective, who had heard all: “he 
little suspects that at the first moment he will him- 
self be put under restraint." He guided his pris- 
oner through the narrow passages which they were 
obliged to cross in order to reach the prison. 

The planks were damp and uneven, the stair- 


134 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


cases steep and slippery, and strewn with a thou- 
sand objects obstructing the way. Mile. Rumigny 
stumbled at every step. 

Without support through these gloomy passages, 
which were dimly lighted by a few lanterns hung 
here and there on the walls, she would have fallen 
twenty times. 

They finally reached the entrance of the station ; 
and not till then, when she saw the gloomy door, 
barred with iron, did Margaret understand where 
they were leading her. 

At the dismal sound of the knocker that Picot 
raised to announce his arrival, she looked up, 
started, and began to tremble ; and when, after 
the grating of the bolts and lock, she perceived 
the custodian, and, behind him, the yawning gulf, 
she gave a cry of horror. 

Courage ! ” repeated William Dow, leaving her, 
for he knew that they would not allow him to go 
farther. 

The officer who had accompanied the detective 
took the American’s place with Margaret, who 
was ready to faint ; and the heavy door sounding 
like a funeral-knell closed on the daughter of the 
victim of the Rue Marlot. 

She is a lost woman, if I do not interest my- 
self for her,” thought the stranger, returning by 
the way he had just come. ‘‘The warrant is 
signed by M. de Fourmel : he is a serious man, 
and must have discovered very strong proofs of 
her complicity. It would be strange if I, William 


AT THE PERMANENCE, 


135 


Dow, were to prove her innocence. If it were 
only to avenge myself on Master Picot ! ’’ 

Our mysterious personage, lost in these reflec- 
tions, found himself on the Quai de la Concierge- 
rie, and turned to the right to walk to the Hotel 
du Dauphin. 

^Suddenly he felt an object in his pocket, whose 
form reminded him as he touched it that it did not 
belong to him. He drew it out, and recognized 
Margaret’s medallion that he had forgotten. 
Having opened it, he approached a gas-jet in order 
to examine what the jewel contained. 

It was the portrait of a man about thirty years 
old, and remarkably handsome. 

‘‘The lover, no doubt,” thought William Dow ; 
“the assassin, as M. de Fourmel thinks: perhaps 
only an unfaithful man. We shall see.” 

And he continued on his way. 


136 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A NIGHT AT THE JAIL. 

During this time Mile. Rumigny had been 
undergoing the humiliating, formalities of having 
her name registered, and being measured for her 
height, and searched, unconscious of what they 
were doing to her. These formalities accom- 
plished, she was put into the hands of a sister, at 
the entrance to the women’s quarters. 

These holy women who devote themselves to 
prisoners are certainly worthy of all respect : there- 
fore not the shadow of blame belongs to them. 
But since this is not an imaginative account, our 
aim being to narrate impartially, we must tell the 
whole truth. 

We have no other thought than to be true, no 
other ambition than that of offering our readers a 
study conscientiously wrought, and from the spot. 

If here and there in this almost unknown world 
in which our tragedy is taking place, we bring to 
light errors and point out abuses that are insep- 
arable from humanity, it is not for the vain pleas- 
ure of criticising, but with the sole desire of ac- 
complishing reforms which humanity no less than 
justice demands. 


A NIGHT AT THE JAIL, 


137 


It is especially in prisons and the various sta- 
tions that lead to them, from the office of the police 
to the court, where absolute power is exercised 
without restraint, except to the conscience of 
those who possess it, that much remains to be 
done by the legislator. 

.One cannot tell what useless suffering, moral 
and physical, is inflicted on prisoners, whether 
innocent or guilty, from the moment of their arrest 
until their final judgment is pronounced. Whether 
innocent or guilty, this much of it is inevitable, 
whatever the humane sentiments of the magis- 
trates who examine them, or of the guard into 
whose custody they are given. 

Whether the accused be a person of good posi- 
tion, a pure young girl, a workman, thief, or assas- • 
sin, especially if he have no money to pay for 
privacy, the formalities are always the same, unless, 
in his misfortune, he may have the good luck to 
meet one of those intelligent officers, who, while 
respecting the law, know how to soften the sever- 
ity of its rules. 

But, if not, it means for all experience with 
brutal officers at the Permanence, repulsive con- 
tact with the most degraded of beings, and pro- 
miscuous association with vice and infamy. 

Is this humanity.? Is this justice.? Should 
there be the same humiliation for each individual .? 
Must both suffer alike .? 

One is innocent, at least his guilt is not proved ; 
another an old offender, caught in his crime. And 


138 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

you would throw the former on to the same couch 
as the latter, force them to mingle in the same 
small yard where they breathe the little air allowed 
them, to eat from the same bowl, and be addressed 
by the same guard, who confounds them alike in 
his scornful treatment ! 

All these are made comrades. 

It is inhuman ! 

And solitary confinement in prison, that moral 
torture which is equal to the physical torture of 
past ages, which has the frightful advantage that 
it is without limit, and can last months and years ! 

The first killed the body only : the latter crushes 
body and soul. Those who are forced to inflict 
this punishment, though only at the commence- 
ment of the proceedings, have never reflected how 
terrible it is for one to endure this isolation far 
from all living and thinking beings, in the unchan- 
ging tete-a-tete with despair, terror, and remorse, 
and left in ignorance of the duration of the tor- 
ment. 

This torture leads sometimes to the same results 
as if the prisoner were guilty, — to the confession 
of a crime which has not been committed. 

Is it possible to forget that unhappy woman 
who, placed in solitary confinement at Douai for 
infanticide, acknowledged herself guilty of the 
crime } She preferred any thing rather than the 
solitude of her cell : the court and the prison. 
Three months later, that is, six months after the 
time when, according to the accusation, she killed 
her child, she gave it birth ! 


A NIGHT A T THE JAIL. 


139 


This woman had been imprisoned then only 
three months. 

Those accused of financial irregularities pro- 
hibited by law are often doomed to this punish- 
ment for six months, or a whole year, as we have 
sometimes seen in our times. 

And when the accused are declared innocent, 
after many months' imprisonment, as happened in 
the case of a former officer of the Empire in which 
the government witnesses were his best defenders, 
what damages do the courts pay him who has 
been the victim of so deplorable an error } None. 
The law does not provide for it. 

If a person be unjustly imprisoned by false 
testimony or malice, the calumniator can be con- 
demned to pay damages with interest according to 
the injury caused. If, on the other hand, the pub- 
lic prosecutor has turned out of office, torn from 
his business and home, one whom he thought 
guilty, the judges owe him nothing except the proc- 
lamation of his innocence. 

Thus the law, the supreme expression of the 
sense of justice of society, has no punishment for 
the wrong which it causes to one of the members 
of the society which it should protect and defend. 

If it cannot be otherwise, let us at least shorten 
the solitary imprisonment, and its severity and 
tortures. 

It may be said in reply that cases are too num- 
erous in proportion to the number of magistrates. 
That is true and we are not unaware how much 


140 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


these magistrates have to do, and how great their 
zeal and devotion. 

Increase their number. Increase appropriation 
for their compensation. . Have twenty experts, 
instead of giving the monopoly of this delicate 
and protracted work into the hands of three or 
four men, who, though very skilful and honorable, 
yet subject prisoners to a year of imprisonment, 
when no investigation should require more than 
three months’ labor. 

Multiply the means of action, that the guilty 
may be more quickly punished, and that the in- 
nocent, to whom the law does not give any indem- 
nity, recover liberty the more speedily. Be more 
cautious, as are judges in England. 

As to a poor debtor, above all, let this caution 
be great. If he takes to flight, the law is no less 
satisfied, since you punish him more severely if 
he is guilty ; and his creditors gain at least some- 
thing. 

Break off from superannuated customs, free us 
from embarrassment and the delays of the law in 
matters of form. Justice and humanity will both 
gain by it. 

Let justice be not only impartial and enlight- 
ened, which is an honor to pur country, but swift, 
which is the terror of the guilty and the hope of 
the innocent. Is it any surprise then, if affairs are 
thus conducted among the higher officials, that 
abuses and cruelty are often found among the sub- 
ordinates. 


A NIGHT AT THE JAIL. 141 

The sisters belonging to the prisons, those 
worthy and holy women whose mission is so pain- 
ful, at first see only the guilty side of the prisoners 
confided to their care and surveillance ; and the 
manner in which they receive them shows this, as 
Mile. Rumigny was doomed to cruelly experience. 

‘‘Are you here for theft said the sister to 
whom the custodian had given her in charge. 

“For theft!” repeated the young mother, rais- 
ing her haggard eyes to her questioner, — “ for 
theft I ” 

The sister took this answer for an avowal. 

“Follow me,” she said to her. 

Margaret obeyed mechanically. The child be- 
gan to cry, and she rocked it as she walked. 

“ Do you nurse your child ? ” asked the nun. 

“Yes,” said Margaret. 

“ When you reach your cell, I will warm some 
milk for you if you need it.” 

These words were spoken with gentleness and 
compassion. 

It was no longer the guardian, but the woman, 
who spoke. A second sister, bearing a lantern, 
joined the first. Her serge dress, like that of her 
companion, was ornamented with a broad blue 
ribbon, — a distinctive mark of the order of Marie- 
Joseph, which is consecrated to the work of 
prisons, and whose mother-house is at Dorat in 
Upper Vienna. 

They exchanged a few words in a low tone, 
which was unnecessary, for Margaret thought 


142 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

little of listening to them ; and they turned to the 
right to take the passage leading to the cells. 

After taking a few steps, they stopped opposite 
a low door, which one of the nuns noisily opened. 
It was that of cell No. 7. 

The sister who bore the lantern entered first. 

“ Go in,*’ said the other to Margaret, making 
her pass before her. This cell resembled all those 
near it, having whitewashed walls, a clean floor, 
and a small window, very high up, and closed by 
a screen. 

The furniture consisted of a hard, narrow bed, 
without sheets (the prisoner must pay eight sous 
if he wishes any), and a single red blanket, a small 
- table placed close to the wall, and a straw chair 
fastened to the table by an iron chain. 

Are you going to leave me here all alone } ” 
groaned Mile. Rumigny, understanding at last 
that they had arrested her, and taken her to prison. 

Why is it, my God } What have I done } Is it 
forbidden to wish to die } ” 

Come, be calm,” answered the nun gently. 

Give your child something to drink, say your 
prayers, and go to sleep. I cannot light the gas, 
they are repairing the pipes ; but I will not come 
to take away the lantern till you are in bed.” 

The cells are lighted by gas, in order not to 
leave in darkness the prisoners who are sick or 
who must be watched. 

‘‘ Oh ! I beg you,” entreated the unhappy lady, 
'' do not forsake me, I am afraid ! I have never 


A NIGHT AT THE JAIL. 


143 


done wrong, I swear to you. My God, have pity 
on me ! ” 

The poor woman had thrown herself on her 
knees ; and, while with one hand she pressed to 
her heart her crying babe, she clung with the 
other to her keeper’s dress to prevent her from 
going away. 

The sister, feeling profoundly moved by this 
despair, and also understanding, no doubt, that 
here was a prisoner unlike the many brought to 
her every day, helped Margaret to arise, and said 
such kind words, that in a few moments the young 
mother, after appeasing her child’s thirst, lay re- 
signedly on the bed which the second nun had 
covered with sheets of coarse gray linen. 

The cot was very * narrow, but Margaret’s 
babe was lying in a cross-wise position on her 
bosom ; and when she heard the door of her cell 
close, and found herself in darkness, mad with 
terror, she would have sprung up with a shriek 
of despair, but for waking her child, which had 
quickly fallen asleep. 

The unfortunate woman herself remained with 
eyes wide open, trying to pierce the darkness 
which her imagination peopled with a thousand 
phantoms. 

It seemed to her that the severe voice of the 
magistrate was again heard, and she still felt the 
weight of his searching eyes upon her ; and she 
had a vision of her father with bleeding wounds 
standing before her, and cursing her. 


144 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


Then girlish memories thronged her brain con- 
fusedly till it reeled. She recollected her child- 
hood, her love-romance, her flight from her father’s 
house, and the little apartment in the Rue Marlot, 
whence she escaped to die, and the mysterious 
man who had drawn her out of an abyss ; and she 
burst into tears. 

She wept a long while, until, mentally and physi- 
cally overcome, she at length yielded to fatigue, 
and fell into a heavy sleep, filled with the horrible 
fancies of a dizzy brain. 

She had hardly an hour’s rest, if her sleep could 
be called rest, when, being suddenly awakened by 
a strange, unexpected noise that was inexplicable 
to her, and a reddish glare of light suddenly fall- 
ing on her face, and seeming to her weakened 
mind like the burning eye of some revengeful 
monster, she partly raised herself, threw out her 
arms to drive back the horrible vision, and, utter- 
ing a terrible cry, fell back lifeless. 

It was the night-officer on her round, who, being 
in a hurry to conclude her duties, and also not 
knowing who was in No. 7, had noisily opened the 
grated door to let the light of her lantern shine 
into the interior that she might see if any of the 
rules were being violated. 

The sister heard the prisoner’s cry ; but no other 
sound following it to cause her anxiety, she thought 
it only one of those appeals so common in prison, 
and she went on her way to finish her inspection. 

Two hours later, at daybreak, when the sister 


A NIGHT AT THE JAIL, 


145 


superior entered the cell, whose silence had not 
been broken again, she saw the prisoner crouched 
in a corner, rocking her little daughter, and mur- 
muring in her ear one of those artless lullabies of 
which mothers alone have the secret. 

At the entrance of the nun, Margaret did not 
stir, and went on with her refrain. 

The sister sprang towards her, and, having 
called her in vain, took the babe from her, then 
gave a cry of horror. The child was icy cold. 
Margaret was rocking a corpse ! 

The poor mother, in falling back on her bed 
when terror overpowered her, had smothered her 
babe. 

She did not make a movement to take back the 
little body, but let her arms fall empty, and raised 
her eyes, whose wandering expression told plainly 
that reason had forsaken her. 

When M. de Fourmel, on reaching his office at 
about eleven o’clock, learned what had happened, 
he was deeply affected, and ordered Mile. Ru- 
migny to be removed to Saint Lazare, and re- 
quested that she should be surrounded with every 
necessary attention. 

Almost at the same instant a strange scene was 
passing in M. Meslin’s office. 

Master Picot was about to relate his great doings 
of the preceding night, and was impatiently wait- 
ing for the praise of which he thought himself 
worthy, when a card was brought to the commis- 
sioner, the sight of which made him start from 
his chair. 


146 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT. 

''Ah! it is too much,” said M. Meslin to the 
detective: "it is he ! ” 

"He” was William Dow, whom he had just 
ordered Picot to arrest, in case the stranger should 
be secretly preparing to leave Paris. 

" Let the gentleman enter,” ordered the officer. 

The American was then introduced. His first 
care in the morning had been to send for Mme. 
Bernard’s effects and his own at the Rue Lacute : 
it is needless to say that he had generously 
rewarded the wine-merchant’s wife for the loss of 
her dress and linen, and that he was dressed with 
his usual elegance. 

On recognizing the detective in the office of the 
commissioner, he could not help smiling; and, 
before M. Meslin questioned him, he said in the 
calmest voice and with the greatest politeness, — 

" Sir, I intend to leave very soon, but I am not 
unaware of the pains you take to have me followed ; 
and, as this surveillance might give place to some 
conflict between this worthy fellow and myself, I 
beg you to read this letter.” 

Amazed at this coolness, and feeling greatly 
humiliated at seeing himself so completely under- 
stood, M. Meslin blushingly took the paper 
presented him by Mr. Dow. He had hardly 
glanced it over, when he hastily jumped up from 
his chair, and, motioning to Picot to leave, gra- 
ciously offered a seat to his visitor. 

"A thousand thanks,” said the American ironi- 
cally, " I am in a great hurry. I have some impor- 


A NIGHT AT THE JAIL. 


147 


tant errands to perform before my departure. I 
only desire to have you read this letter.” 

M. Meslin tried in vain to detain him ; and, see- 
ing that he could not succeed, he wished at least 
to escort him to the threshold. 

There they exchanged bows, and the commis- 
sioner went thoughtfully back to his office. 

''Well,” asked the detective, who was watch- 
ing his return, "what news is there } ” 

" The news is, M. Picot, that you are merely a 
fool, which perhaps is nothing new to you,” an- 
swered M. Meslin. "You can return to the sta- 
tion. I need you no longer.” 

And, without feeling disturbed at the discomfited 
face of the detective, whom he left alone in his 
ante-room, the commissioner returned to his office, 
brusquely closing the door behind him. 

After spending part of his day in writing letters 
to America, Mr. Dow left Paris the same evening 
by the Eastern train. 

It is superfluous to add that this time Master 
Picot did not follow him. 


148 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


CHAPTER XIV. 

M. ADOLPHE MORIN’s LOVE-AFFAIRS. 

After honorably earning a fortune in the weav- 
ing business, which gave him an income of nearly 
six thousand dollars, M. Rumigny, who had been a 
widower for about ten years, had retired from busi- 
ness to devote himself wholly to his two passions, 
— his love of music and his adoration of his 
daughter. 

This daughter, with whom we are already ac- 
quainted, at the time when we introduce you to 
her father’s house was a bewitching young girl of 
eighteen, fair and pale, whose face, whatever M. 
Rumigny might do to make her happy, was always 
dreamy and almost sad. 

She had, however, every thing that life could 
give : her slightest wish was law, and her young 
friends, as well as every one who knew her, 
believed her the happiest of girls. Her father 
never spoke of her without enthusiasm, and never 
refused her what so greatly pleases young girls, — 
a dress, a jewel, a journey to Paris or along the 
Rhine. 

Margaret’s sadness was owing to causes un- 
known to her most intimate friends, — to those who, 


Af. ADOLPHE MORIN^S LOVE-AFFAIRS. 149 


seeing her every day, were continual witnesses of 
the thousand proofs of tenderness lavished upon 
her by the retired merchant. And they did not 
understand that it was from that very tenderness 
that the young girl suffered the most cruel mar- 
tyrdom. 

Let our readers feel assured that our pen will 
not paint a shameful passion, or write one of those 
unhealthy stories that rapidly carry a book to 'its 
tenth edition. We do not wish success that one 
can easily obtain at such a price. A rapid sketch 
of M. Rumigny’s character will suffice to make us 
understood, and explain every thing. 

M. Rumigny was certainly not a 'wicked man; 
perhaps, on the contrary, he was born thoroughly 
good ; but his constant success in business, and 
the admiration of his wife, — a simple, innocent 
creature who died adoring her husband, after hav- 
ing been the slave of his caprices, — his daughter's 
timidity, his friends’ indulgence, and, above all, an 
inordinate vanity, had spoiled him to the degree 
that he had become a despot, an unconscious one, 
who in his tyranny assumed a good-nature that 
deceived strangers. 

One only needed to be intimate with M. Rumi- 
gny to become his victim. In his own house he 
was emperor and pope at the same time ; and it 
was really amusing, when beholding him on the 
surface only, to see him rule over his subjects with- 
out the slightest desire for opposition on their 
part. 


150 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARIO T 


It was, in one word, the e^-o in all its grotesque 
absurdity, in all its coarse assumption of power. 

His general character, bearing, and selfishness 
had made something of a void around the former 
manufacturer, and gradually he was at last visited 
by only half a dozen dilettanti who shared his love 
for music ; since M. Rumigny, by one of those 
psychological phenomena that are somewhat fre- 
quent, was possessed of a true passion for an art 
from which every thing, his education, business, 
and the surroundings in which he had been brought 
up and in which he had always lived, would seem 
to deprive him. At first a simple fancy, this taste 
had been rapidly transformed into a real mono- 
mania ; and, his determination and natural fond- 
ness aiding, he succeeded, although somewhat late, 
in being a performer of tolerable merit. 

He played the violin in a manner to perform his 
part very properly in a quartet, and could read 
music at the piano quite correctly, and had care- 
fully read and remembered all the works concern- 
ing music and the masters from the Dialogues of 
Galilei, the father of the great philosopher, to the 
History of Music, by Martini ; so that his conver- 
sation on this subject was really interesting. 

One can easily conceive from this knowledge 
that he had carried things to excess. From a 
simple amateur he had become music-mad ; then 
he attached himself to a school, the Italian, and 
left Palestrina, Pergolesi, or Cimarosa only to oc- 
cupy himself with Margaret. 


M. ADOLPHE MORIN^S LOVE-AFFAIRS. 15 1 


For M. Rumigny sincerely loved his daughter, 
but in the manner that he loved every thing ; for 
himself, simply because she afforded him pleasure. 
He was more jealous of the compliments and atten- 
tions paid his child than the most moody lover 
would have been. 

Margaret could not help being happy, perfectly 
happy, in this house, where every thing lived by and 
for her father. So, if one of M. Rumigny’s rela- 
tives or friends remarked to him that his daughter 
was just eighteen, that she was pretty, and that he 
must soon think of marrying her off, he repulsed 
him with anger, or else replied with a shrug of the 
shoulders and an inexpressibly foolish smile, — 
‘‘You are mad like all the rest. My daughter 
never will marry any one but her father and Ital- 
ian music. A husband ! we have plenty of time 
to think about one ; haven’t we, Margaret ” 

The young girl, not knowing what to say, hung 
her head with a blush, and threw herself into her 
father’s arms, who took the impulse to mean an 
answer in the affirmative. 

Let Margaret marry ! Deprive himself of her 
presence, care, and caresses, that another might 
enjoy them ! Have her no longer here near him, 
like an ornament ! No longer to hear her voice, 
or rehearse with her the pieces that he was to 
play with his’ friends ; no longer to proudly walk 
with her on his arm ; no longer to take in her com- 
pany those journeys, during which he was the 
object of every one’s gaze and jealousy, for they 


152 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

took her for his wife ; to live alone, or under the 
same roof with the husband whom he would find 
between him and his child at every step ! 

M. Rumigny rebelled at the very thought, and 
treated the natural laws to which we all must yield 
as absurd and immoral ; and he felt sometimes 
like no longer loving but detesting his daughter, 
when a gleam of reason would force him to admit 
that she would marry some day. 

How he hated in advance the unknown son-in- 
law for whom he had educated, supported, and 
spoiled his child ; that man who would have the 
right to say thou^ to her, who would perhaps take 
her far away, and to whom, even more than to 
her father, Margaret would owe obedience and 
affection ! 

‘‘Well, so be it!'' said the old man, to console 
himself, and lessen the dread which this future 
caused him, so be it. I will find her a husband, 
if I must ; but I will choose him myself : I will 
give her a mature and wise man, some friend of 
mine, who will make her happy. In that way 
separation will be less painful, and I shall not even 
have to separate from her. But a young man, one 
of those fops, one of those presuming fellows, or 
one of those handsome, vain, and stupid fellows, 
girls are so foolishly crazy over, and who deceive, 
beat, and destroy their happiness, — never 1 I 
would rather see her dead." 

1 “ Thou,” not “ you,” is used in France between members of a family, 
— Translator, 


M. ADOLPHE MORIN'S LOVE-^AFFAIRS, 153 


As for Margaret, when, after one of the scenes 
we have just spoken of, she would return to the 
room of her innocent girlhood, and dream over 
the chaste confidence made her by some one of her 
young girl friends, her heart would swell, and tears 
would come to her eyes. She could not have told 
why, but she dreaded the future. 

Heart and mind would again grow calm ; and 
when, a few moments later, her father saw her 
return smiling, he would say that he was mad, that 
his daughter would never leave him, that she loved 
him more than any one in the world, and was per- 
fectly happy, and he took her on his knees. 

To him Margaret was still fifteen, still a little 
girl whose greatest sorrow could be appeased with 
a new jewel. 

Things remained thus till Mile. Rumigny was 
nineteen ; and her father, who was more and more 
absorbed in music, did not or would not perceive, 
his selfishness preventing, the moral and physical 
change taking place in her, when he said to her 
one morning on seating himself at table, — 

I have a great piece of news to tell you, my 
child." 

What is it, father ? " said Margaret, raising her 
beautiful eyes. 

‘'Some one has come to me to ask for your 
hand." 

“ Bah ! who } " 

The young girl asked this question with such 
indifference that the old man, who had not ap- 


154 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT, 

proached this delicate subject without apprehen- 
sion, was filled with joy, and answered gayly, — 

“Your cousin Adolphe/’ 

The face of Mile. Rumigny looked very express- 
ive, and by no means encouraging to the said 
cousin. 

“And have you answered him ” she asked 
smilingly. 

“ I answered what I felt I ought, as both duty 
and affection commanded,” continued the good 
man in the manner of a devoted father : “ namely, 
that I would let you know of his proposal, that I 
was not master of my daughter, that it was ne- 
cessary before all that she should be consulted. 
Am I a tyrant who would use violence towards 
you } Are you not of an age to choose a husband 
yourself ?” 

M. Rumigny, feeling sure that Margaret would 
not accept her cousin’s proposal, would have con- 
tinued a long time in this strain, if the young girl 
had not stopped him with a gayety more apparent 
than real : — 

“ Well, my dear father, you can answer M. 
Adolphe Morin that I am very much flattered at 
his proposal, but that I do not yet desire to marry, 
that I do not wish to leave you, and that I am very 
happy as I am.” 

The selfish man did not observe that his daugh- 
ter’s voice trembled with tears, and, eagerly draw- 
ing his chair close to hers, he said, taking her 
hand, — 


M. ADOLPHE MORIN'S LOVE-AFFAIRS. 155 

** Reflect well, my little Margaret : I am cer- 
tainly very much touched at your feeling for me, 
but I should not wish you to sacrifice yourself for 
your old father. Adolphe is Very rich and very 
steady : I am sure he would make an excellent 
husband. Besides, he is a good and worthy fellow, 
whom your refusal would greatly grieve. But I 
do not wish to force you. I am not eager, though 
you may be wrong. Have you really decided } ” 

-Yes, fully.^^ 

- Well, then, it is understood : I will tell him so.'* 

And, seizing his child’s head with both hands, 
M. Rumigny covered her forehead with kisses ; 
then ran off, fearing lest he should manifest his 
joy too plainly. 

But Margaret, as soon as he had gone, burst into 
sobs, for she understood the odious comedy he had 
been playing. 

Then this was what was reserved for her youth, 
and the aspirations of her heart ! to be sought by 
a man nearly three times her age, whose features, 
tone, and bearing bordered on the ridiculous ; for 
M. Adolphe Morin was nearly fifty, and neither 
elegant nor brilliant. 

He was a formal person, with a hypocritical and 
mawkish countenance, — a countenance which is 
a mask, people say, for ardent passions such as 
would not be confessed. 

Although in easy circumstances, — he was said 
to have about four thousand dollars income, — and, 
though he had no one dependent on him, he was 


156 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT. 

excessively economical ; and the reason Avhy he 
had not yet married was because he had always 
been searching for a big dower. 

For the first time, perhaps, he was enough in 
love not to think too much of money. Therefore 
he was ready to marry his cousin, although her 
father gave her only a hundred thousand francs. 

M. Morin did not imagine that he could be 
refused : the evening before, he believed in M. Ru- 
migny’s promises, and so little doubted his success, 
that, a few moments after the scene we have just 
related, he reached his uncle's house, with a bou- 
quet in his hand, like a charmer and conqueror. 

Monsieur and mademoiselle are still at dinner,” 
said the servant who opened the door. 

So much the better,” replied the old bachelor, 
smiling. I will surprise them ; ” and, crossing 
the vestibule, he entered the dining-room where 
Margaret was alone, and still a prey to the emotion 
caused her by her conversation with her father. 

On perceiving her cousin, the young girl quickly 
wiped her eyes, and, caring little to have the tete- 
d-tete with which she was threatened, said to him 
eagerly as she rose, — 

‘‘ My father has just left me ; he must be in the 
garden : let us go and meet him.” 

Has he said nothing to you about me this 
morning, my charming cousin } ” asked M. Morin, 
offering his bouquet rather awkwardly. 

‘'Yes: he told me of your proposal, which flat- 
ters me very much ; he will answer you himself. 
C6me.” 


M. ADOLPHE MORIN'S LOVE-AFFAIRS, 157 


She proceeded to the hall-door. 

May I at least hope ? ” said the suitor, stopping 
gallantly in the passage to kiss her hand. 

“ Stop, Adolphe,” said Mile. Rumigny firmly, as 
though she had armed herself with courage : ‘‘ I 
prefer to be frank, and spare you a second step 
that would be useless. I have answered my father 
that I did not wish to marry. Let us remain good 
friends, for I shall never become your wife.” 

“ Why ? ” imprudently asked M. Morin. 

have just told you, because I do not wish to 
marry.” 

And because you do not love me ? ” 

Cousin ! ” 

Because you think me neither young nor rich 
enough for you ? ” 

All this was said in a sweet way that poorly 
dissimulated how humiliated M. Morin felt at the 
refusal. 

The truth is, that his heart and pride were alike 
wounded. 

The day that he began to feel weary of his sol- 
itude and easy conquests, that is, a few months 
before this present time, M. Morin deigned to no- 
tice that Margaret was pretty. Besides, he knew 
that she was heiress to quite a large fortune. 
From desiring this, and forming the project to 
marry her, there was but one step. 

Adolphe Morin had not divined in his cousin an 
unhappy young girl, sacrificed to paternal selfish- 
ness, yet longing for happiness, as is the right of 


158 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


every human creature : he saw only the woman 
and money ; that is, the gratification of his two 
passions, the love of his coarse nature, and avarice. 

He then laid out his plan of campaign, and 
made himself a friend in the house by becoming 
familiar with his uncle, and flattering his tastes, 
above all, by not presenting himself as a lover ; 
for he knew M. Rumigny's horror of all that 
resembled, near or far, a future son-in-law. 

But as he had been forced, in order to play his 
roley to make more and more frequent visits, he 
found himself almost every day with Margaret ; 
and his love, which was simple calculation at first, 
was rapidly transformed into a true passion by one 
of those overpowering sentiments which at once 
take possession of heart, senses, and mind. 

He struggled as long as possible, and so cleverly, 
using every resource of his hypocritical nature, 
that Mile. Rumigny perceived nothing of it : then 
one fine morning, his patience being exhausted, 
and eager for possession, he decided to speak to 
his uncle of his matrimonial projects. 

Strange to say, on this day the old man was not 
unfavorably disposed. He received his nephew’s 
overtures good-naturedly, particularly as he was 
not one of those whom he feared ; and feeling 
convinced, moreover, that his daughter would not 
have him, he played the thoughtful father, and 
answered that it was necessary, before making any 
decision whatever, to consult his child. 

We know how he had manoeuvred, and what 
had been the result of his proposition. 


M. ADOLPHE MORIN^S LOVE-AFFAIRS. 159 


M. Morin, who had accepted M. Rumigny’s prom- 
ises like ready money, and in his fatuity thought 
no other obstacle but her father’s will existed be- 
tween her whom he loved and himself, was amazed 
at the young girl’s frank, decided declaration ; and 
he would, no doubt, have poured forth a thousand 
protestations and recriminations had not Margaret, 
foreseeing the danger, forestalled him by saying, — 
You are mistaken, cousin : I am not too proud 
to be sincerely flattered by your seeking me ; and 
I assure you that there is only one reason for my 
refusal : I do not wish to marry. Now, as that is 
an irrevocable resolve on my part, it would not be 
suitable, I think, for our conversation on this sub- 
ject to be further prolonged. Permit me, then, to 
retire. Au revoivy if you will be content with my 
friendship.” 

Without waiting for M. Morin’s answer, after 
affectionately waving him a farewell, she fled 
through the door opposite that whose passage he 
barred. 

The old bachelor was both deeply humiliated 
and grievously wounded ; for, whatever his mate- 
rial object and its causes, his love was none the 
less real, and he wondered for a moment what he 
ought to do, and, not knowing what face to put on 
the matter, was going away, when M. Rumigny 
appeared. 

The old man’s movement of surprise expressed 
that he did not expect to find his nephew in the 
dining-room, and that meeting him did not par- 


i6o NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

ticularly delight him : however, M. Morin guessed 
nothing of the kind, and quickly went forward to 
meet his uncle, holding out his hand in a very dis- 
comfited manner. 

Well,'’ asked the uncle, feigning to understand 
nothing, ‘‘ have you talked with Margaret } ” 

‘Wes : she has refused me,” answered Adolphe 
Morin. 

“ That is not possible ! I pleaded your cause 
well.” 

M. Rumigny uttered this double exclamation 
with such an accent of astonishment and truth, 
that, if his questioner had any doubts about his 
sincerity, they would have been immediately dis- 
pelled. 

“ She has refused me,” he repeated very sharp- 
ly. “ Ah, at least she has the merit of frank- 
ness ! ” 

“ Did she say why } ” 

“ She does not wish to marry.” 

“Young girls always say that.” 

“You understand, my dear uncle, that after 
such a check I shall be compelled to visit you 
less frequently.” 

“ You would not do right, then. As I told you, 
I will not force Margaret, for I wish only her hap- 
piness ; but you must not desert the house thus. 
Who can tell how it may be ? Young girls change 
their minds so often ! In a month perhaps it will 
be she who will run after you.” 

Flattering as this prospect was, M. Morin, in 


M. ADOLPHE MORIN'S LOVE-AFFAIRS. i6i 


spite of his vanity, accepted it with a shake of the 
head ; and when he went away, a few moments 
later, his love was armed with that unconscious 
hatred which in base souls always accompanies 
unsatisfied passions. 

As for the pretended good man, feeling happy 
at his victory, and proud at having played his role 
so well, he went up to his room, and performed 
Pergolese’s Salve Regma, rendering it with a mas- 
terly spirit, that expressed his perfect satisfaction. 

All this time Margaret had been weeping ; but 
in the evening, when she seated herself at table 
opposite her father, her face was so calm, that M. 
Rumigny had no trouble in persuading himself 
that it was really through filial love that she re- 
fused to become Mme. Morin. 

If the music-mad merchant had been more 
observing, if his selfishness had not bade him 
attribute every thing to himself, this calmness 
would have frightened him. He would have 
understood that the day had been decisive for 
Margaret, and that the unworthy comedy upon 
which he had congratulated himself had just taken 
a part of his child’s heart from him, by sowing a 
seed of rebellion which would some day burst forth. 

Women readily judge by comparison. Mile. 
Rumigny, pure as was her soul, contrasted this 
ridiculous passion of her cousin with one of those 
ideal loves which the purest-hearted young girls 
so often dream of ; and she said to herself that she 
was made neither for isolation nor sacrifice. 


1 62 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


CHAPTER XV. 

Margaret's romance. 

Several months had elapsed since the scenes 
we have just related, when one morning M. 
Rumigny received a letter from Florence, which 
made him start with joy, and which he read with 
pride ten times in succession. 

My dear Master [wrote one of the most illustrious 
Italian composers of the time], — I recommend to your kind 
patronage one of my compatriots, M. Robert Balterini, who 
will soon follow these lines. He is a young man worthy in 
every respect of the reception with which I beg you to 
honor him through friendship for me, and in the name of 
your love for the great art which you cultivate with such 
brilliant success. Balterini is already a master, as you will 
judge. 

Forced to leave Italy for motives which I am not free to 
make known to you, but which he will tell you, he came to 
me to ask counsel and protection. 

I thought that I could not do better than to apply to you. 
Do for him the same as you would for my son, and I shall 
be very grateful to you. Balterini will not be your friend a 
month before you will send me your thanks. 

I am just putting the finishing touch to the concerto that 
I wish to dedicate to you : you will soon receive a copy of 
it ; and, as I expect to go to France in a few months, we 
will perform it together. 

Always yours faithfully, 


Alberti. 


MARGARET^S ROMANCE, 


163 


This name was that of a musician whose works 
Italy was praising, and whom France was just 
beginning to know. M. Rumigny became ac- 
quainted with him during a journey that he made 
on the other side of the Alps a few years before, 
and he kept up a correspondence with him. 

Nothing could filter the music-mad bourgeois 
more than the complimentary epistle of the great 
artist, and he hastened to answer that his house 
would become that of his protege ; and, while await- 
ing the young maestro s arrival, he told his friends 
and daughter about him. 

But Margaret was in a state of mind that did 
not permit her to rejoice about any thing whatso- 
ever. Her only desire was to avoid her cousin as 
much as possible ; for M. Adolphe had recovered 
his courage. He even annoyed her so much by 
his attentions and languishing airs that her indif- 
ference for her adorer slowly changed to disgust 
and hatred. 

She therefore received with great coldness the 
news which her father communicated with so much 
pride ; and a week later, when she was with M. 
Rumigny in the parlor, and M. Balterini was an- 
nounced, she hurriedly disappeared in spite of the 
threatening looks of the vain bourgeois. 

He on his part sprang forward to greet the Ital- 
ian as fast as his sixty years would permit, and, 
holding out both hands, cried, — 

The pupil of the celebrated Alberti is welcome 
to the house of his humble professional brother.’* 


i 64 number thirteen RUE MARLOT 

Then gently insisting, he made the stranger sit 
near him on a lounge. 

Balterini at this time was a fine young man 
about thirty years old, tall and slight, with hand- 
some brown eyes, an intelligent forehead, and 
superb black hair. 

His mouth was refined and spiritual, although a 
sad smile seemed stereotyped upon it. In a word, 
he was of the pure Neapolitan type, his form being 
both elegant and robust. 

Feeling deeply touched at the old man's recep- 
tion, he took a seat near him, and expressed to 
him in excellent French, although he spoke it 
with a slight accent, all his gratitude for so flatter- 
ing a welcome. 

They talked at first of Alberti, of his new works, 
and of the musical movement in Italy ; then M.- 
Rumigny, in whom discretion was not a predomi- 
nant quality, questioned the young man about his 
projects. 

Sir,” answered the Italian frankly, see that 
my master and friend has written you very little 
about me, and that you do not know who I am.” 

The merchant made a gesture to interrupt him. 

No : I beg you, let me tell every thing,” con- 
tinued Balterini. “ I wish you to know me well. 
If, afterwards, you judge me worthy of your benevo- 
lent interest, I shall only be still more grateful.” 

Can you doubt it ? ” protested M. Rumigny, 
who did not like to be silent. 

‘‘ Well, sir, you have before you an unfortunate 


MARGARET^S ROMANCE. 165 

political exile. It is probable that at this very 
moment while I am talking to you, the criminal 
court of Naples is condemning me for contempt 
to forced labor.” 

The good man started from his seat. 

Oh, do not let that frighten or astonish you ! ” 
continued Alberti’s pupil, smiling bitterly. These 
things happen to the most honest people under 
the reign of our good king Ferdinand. Dishonor, 
happily, does not accompany the pains inflicted. 
Our sovereign sends his greatest noblemen to the 
galleys ; and when he wishes to pardon them, these 
gentlemen return to society as if they were com- 
ing back from the country. For us, who are of 
less importance, the royal anger lasts longer, and 
has far graver consequences. I prefer not to brave 
it. Joining in one of the conspiracies which 
abuses make permanent in our poor country, I 
was warned in time by Alberti that all was discov- 
ered, and that I was going to be arrested. I has- 
tened to fly and take refuge in France, whose 
government, I hope at least, will not grant my 
extradition, in case it should be demanded. How- 
ever, as it is necessary to foresee every thing, even 
the impossible, I have changed my name. I call 
myself Balterini. To you alone I am Romello.” 

To me alone, believe me,” M. Rumigny eager- 
ly affirmed ; for he was not sorry to see a conspir- 
ator so near. 

Something of a fault-finder, like every thorough- 
bred boiirgeoisy it was not unpleasant to him to 


l66 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


protect a victim from the government, especially 
when, as in the present case, it was a foreign 
power, and he could grant his protection without 
running any risk. 

At Marseilles,'' resumed the man whom we 
will continue to call Balterini, I received a letter 
in which your friend Alberti told me to come to 
your city, where, thanks to you to whom he recom- 
mended me, I should certainly find employment 
for the talent which I owe to rny illustrious master. 
There is all my history, sir : may I always count 
on your kind interest } " 

‘‘ Can you count on it ! " cried M. Rumigny, 
enthusiastic at the role which he was going to 
play, more than ever ! My daughter and I will 
be your first pupils. I have some influence here ; 
and people are ready to listen to me on matters of 
art. Have no anxiety : in a month you will be 
celebrated. We shall then have grand and beauti- 
ful music." 

The old man pressed the young man's hands 
with an air of pride and protection impossible to 
convey. 

‘‘ Now," he continued, without permitting the 
Italian to put in a word of thanks, '' let us frater- 
nize at once. I have a perfect instrument here, 
an Erard, which cost me outright a thousand 
crowns, but I do not regret them : there is nothing 
like these pianos, you know. Come, play me 
something." 

'' Oh, gladly ! " said Balterini, seating himself at 
the piano, which the old music-lover had opened. 


MARGARETS ROMAATCE. 


167 


And, after assuring himself by a powerful prel- 
ude, that he really had a wonderful instrument 
under his fingers, the stranger executed like a 
real virtuoso the finest parts of Pergolesi’s Serva 
Padrona/' 

Play it again, my young friend, again,*^ said 
M. Rumigny, carried away with delight, for this 
ravishing opera of the Italian master was one of 
his passions. 

He took his violin, and timidly accompanied 
Alberti's pupil. 

This impromptu concert had lasted nearly an 
hour, when the merchant, who had remained silent 
in order to give himself wholly up to an andante 
of Cimarosa which Balterini rendered with perfect 
taste, sprang towards the door, called his servant, 
and ordered him to go and tell his daughter that 
he begged her to join him at once. 

Although Margaret feared some introduction 
that would be very little to her taste, a transgres- 
sion of fatherly pride habitual with M. Rumigny, 
she could not refuse the summons ; and a few 
moments later she appeared on the threshold of 
the parlor. 

‘‘ Hush ! " said the old man, taking her by the 
hand, and with a gesture begging the maestro not 
to stop ; ‘‘ listen to that. Cimarosa, my child, 
Cimarosa interpreted by Liszt ! " 

The Italian was really a pianist of the highest 
order, and the instrument sang and wept under his 
skilful fingers. 


i68 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

Margaret, who was an excellent musician, could 
not help sharing her father’s admiration, little dis- 
posed as she was to enthusiasm. 

When the piece was concluded, the stranger 
rose. M. Rumigny presented him to his daughter, 
and excused himself for his indiscretion so simply 
and in such excellent terms, that for the first time 
in her life Margaret felt disturbed. But through 
one of those sentiments of mistrust, innate with 
women, she remained so perfectly calm and cold 
that the old man concluded that he was going to 
have a family scene in order to have his protigi 
received kindly and with a pleasant face. 

A month later, as he promised his young friend, 
Balterini became quite famous. He played in a 
concert organized in his honor, and nothing was 
talked of but his talent, and people would have 
only him for a master. 

Only a month later, also. Mile. Rumigny, who 
did not seem to share the general infatuation, was 
no longer the same person ; although her pleasant 
face still wore its serious, rather sad, expression, 
there was a sweet smile on her lips at times, and 
a joyful light in her eyes. Solitude was no longer 
a mere refuge from her father’s importuning, but 
when she retired to her room it was to be alone 
with her thoughts and dreams ; for she loved ! 


A CATASTROPHE. 


169 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A CATASTROPHE. 

As we are not writing a love romance, we will 
not paint every phase of the passion that was to 
bring about a fatal union between two crushed 
and lonely hearts. 

Balterini, being an exile, deprived of all family 
affection, and having ardent and exalted senti- 
ments, could not long resist Margaret’s charms. 
After quickly divining the treasures of tenderness 
in her pure maidenly soul, all the secret torture 
she suffered, — for a few days sufficed for him 
to understand M. Rumigny’s profoundly selfish 
nature, — he was filled with unspeakable compas- 
sion, and soon became inspired with an irresistible 
love. When he was certain that he was equally 
loved, his joy was boundless, and he blessed the 
political misfortunes that led him to the city 
whose name perhaps he had not known a few 
months before ; but as he was an honest man, inca- 
pable of abusing the confidence which Margaret’s 
father showed him, he resolved to converse with 
the young girl in such a way as would decide the 
future of both. 

One morning, when M. Rumigny had left them 


170 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

alone in the parlor where they first met, Balterini 
gave her whom he loved a look that made her 
tremble, and, suddenly leaving the piano where 
he was sitting, went towards her. 

Anticipating that something grave was to pass 
between her and the stranger, Margaret grew 
pale, and was obliged to lean against a piece of 
furniture. 

Mademoiselle,'' said the young man, taking 
both her hands, do you not think that in the 
peculiar situation in which we find ourselves, we 
shall need more courage, energy, and frankness 
than many others } I love you with all the 
strength of my soul, and you perhaps love me a 
little." 

The young girl answered only by closing her 
eyes and pressing the hands that held her own. 

Balterini continued, Where will this love lead 
us if we do not unite our efforts to triumph 
over the obstacles that separate us? To despair ! 
Myself at least, Margaret, for I would rather die 
than renounce you. Would M. Rumigny like me 
for a son-in-law ? I hardly dare hope it, whatever 
affectionate sentiments he expresses towards me : 
therefore it is necessary that I should have your 
consent, that you should encourage me to put an 
end to my hesitation and my fears, that I may 
boldly ask you of your father." 

Oh ! be cautious, Robert," said the young girl 
in fear ; then, frightened at her abandotiy she re- 
sumed blushingly, — 


A CATASTROPHE, 


171 

Pardon, Monsieur Robert.” 

“ Dear Margaret ! Are we . still on the footing 
that we cannot speak frankly ? Do you not love 
me enough to have every confidence in me, and 
to call me Robert, as I wish to call you Marga- 
ret ” 

‘'Yes, you are right,” answered Mile. Rumigny, , 
hurrying out her words. “ Well, Robert, say 
nothing to my father at present. Wait, have 
patience, as also I must myself. Let me prepare 
him for the step you are to take. You do not 
know him, you see. I alone know the struggle 
I must undergo. He loves me so much, and is 
so much accustomed to the idea that I shall never 
leave him, that my heart belongs only to him. 
What will he say when he learns that I have 
given the best part to another ! It frightens 
me.!” 

i' Frightens you! Am I not here to defend 
you.? You are mistaken. M. Rumigny is too 
wise a man not to know, that, young and beautiful 
as you are, you must be adored. If he loves you, 
he can wish only your happiness, and he shows 
me enough affection and esteem to pardon me for 
a love so deep and respectful as mine.” 

“ My father is not like other men, my friend. 
His affection for me makes him anxious and 
jealous : he loves me for himself, and not for 
myself. As for his friendship for you, it is all 
selfishness. It brings him a thousand gratifica- 
tions according to his tastes : the day when it 


172 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

threatens to cost him any thing, his daughter 
above all, he will see in you only an enemy.’' 

It is not possible.” 

‘‘ It is so, Robert ; and I repeat, I feel fright- 
ened.” 

What shall we do, then } ” 

‘'Wait — or love me no longer.” 

Balterini answered these sad words by raising 
the young girl’s hands to his lips, and covering 
them with kisses ; then, after exchanging loving 
“ words, they decided to say nothing to M. Rumi- 
gny, but, on the contrary, to redouble their pru- 
dence not to awaken the old man’s suspicions. 

M. Rumigny was perfectly easy ; for he saw in 
the Italian only an able and devoted musical 
associate whose intimacy he prized, and whose 
success filled him with pride. Absorbed in his 
dilettanteism he was perfectly blind. 

Nothing interesting him but music, it must be 
the same with all who surrounded him. 

Happy in a look, a few lines exchanged each 
day, and a stolen pressure of a hand, the lovers 
might perhaps have been able to live a long 
time thus, waiting for a favorable occasion to 
present itself ; but, though M. Rumigny slept, 
his nephew, unhappily, was wide awake watching 
for his uncle and himself. 

From the first day M. Morin met Balterini he 
looked upon him with an evil eye. Jealous by 
temperament of all who were young and beauti- 
ful, he was not long in feeling hatred for the 
Italian. • 


A CATASTROPHE. 


^73 


When he saw him intimate in the house where 
his love had not been encouraged, when he heard 
the old man talk up his young friend everywhere, 
he was filled with a thousand wicked feelings. 
Then he soon began to think that this stranger 
might love Margaret, and be loved by her. He 
then promised himself that he would watch them, 
and ruin them if they had a mutual secret which 
he could discover. 

From that day he became attentive to his 
uncle, and devoted to Margaret ; and although he 
had never passed for an artist, he suddenly became 
possessed of an ardent taste for music. He 
would listen the whole evening to every piece 
that it pleased M. Rumigny to perform ; and when 
Balterini and Margaret sang, — for the Italian had 
a remarkable voice, — he did not take his eyes off 
of them. 

Feeling herself under espionage. Mile. Rumigny 
became more reserved than ever, and advised 
Robert to be on his guard ; but, whatever the 
lovers might do, M. Morin found them out, and, 
when he was very certain that they loved each 
other, he resolved not to wait a moment for his 
revenge. 

It was with this intention that he presented 
himself at M. Rumigny’s one morning. The 
latter was alone in his dining-room, his daughter 
having just gone to her room. 

‘^Ah, good-morning, nephew!” said the old 
man : what good fortune brings you here at 
such an hour ? ” 


174 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

*'1 come to perform a duty, uncle,’' answered 
the old bachelor in the sly manner peculiar to 
him. 

A duty.?” 

‘‘Yes.” 

“ I do not understand you.” 

“I will explain myself. Some months ago I 
asked you for Margaret’s hand.” 

“You know that I had nothing to do with her 
refusal.” 

“ I know it : you even told me, to console me, 
that you would never force a husband upon your 
daughter.” 

“ It is true ; and I have not changed my inten- 
tions.” 

“Well, if I am not mistaken, my dear cousin 
is about to choose a husband for herself.” 

“Ah, bah! Who is it.?” 

M. Rumigny spoke these words ironically, but 
the blood which mounted to his face proved that 
the blow had struck all the same. 

“You understand, my dear uncle,” pursued 
Adolphe Morin pitilessly, “it was fated. Your 
daughter is young and pretty : it would be re- 
markable if there could be any one who could see 
her every day without loving her.” 

“ Come, now, of whom are you talking .? ” 

“ Of whom do you suppose, if not the fine 
stranger that you have made your intimate friend .? ” 

“ Balterini .? ” 

“ Yes.” 


A CATASTROPHE. 


175 


‘'You are crazy. Balterini is an honest fellow 
who would not dare ’’ — 

“ I see more clearly than you : he has dared.” 

The good man left his seat ; and, more agitated 
and moved than he wished to appear, he walked 
up and down murmuring, — 

“No, no, it is not possible! I should have 
perceived something. I am not a Geronte or a 
Bartholo : one would not dare to mock at me 
thus.” 

M. Rumigny was pierced to the heart through 
his pride and jealous affection, although he would 
not even yet believe it. 

“ But,” said he, stopping suddenly opposite his 
nephew, “even if Balterini should love Margaret, 
which is possible, I grant, it would not prove that 
my daughter has authorized his love.” 

“ I am sure that my cousin and the Italian 
understand each other wonderfully well.” 

“ Oh, if I believed so I ” 

The tone of increasing anger in which his 
uncle hurled out these four words frightened M. 
Morin. 

“ Come, calm yourself,” he said to him : “ the 
evil is not so great, perhaps, as I suppose. Mar- 
garet probably merely sees in this musician a 
hero of romance who has captivated her imagina- 
tion. Send him away from your house, and in a 
month she will think no more of him. What are 
you going to do } ” 

M. Rumigny had just rung the bell. 


176 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

‘‘ I wish to have a plain talk about it/’ he an- 
swered dryly. I am going to question my 
daughter.” 

Not before me, however : I should not wish 
her to think that I would cause her sorrow. I 
have but one aim, — to be of service to both of 
you.” 

'' You are right : yes, go.” 

His servant now opening the dining-room door, 
he said to him, with comparative calmness, — 

‘'Ask Mile. Margaret to come down.” 

M. Morin had already left, and M. Rumigny 
resumed his agitated walk. He did not stop till 
he heard his daughter’s voice saying to him as she 
entered, — 

“ Did you send for me, father ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the old man, trying to master his 
anger : “ we have something to talk about to- 
gether.” 

“Heavens! What is the matter with you.^ 
How red your face is I Can you be ill ? ” 

“ On the contrary, I am very well : it is not a 
question regarding my health.” 

“ What is it, then ? ” asked the young girl affec- 
tionately. 

M. Rumigny did not know how to begin the 
conversation ; for the pure looks of his child, her 
tender voice and quiet face, paralyzed him. 

For a moment he had the good intention of 
repelling the suspicions which his nephew roused 
in him, and finding some excuse to explain the 


A CATASTROPHE. 


177 


order that he had given his servant ; but his rest- 
less, selfish, jealous disposition did not permit him 
to follow this more worthy line of conduct, and, 
doing as cowards do, who through fear spring for- 
ward out of the danger, he approached his daugh- 
ter, and said to her threateningly, — 

Then you are mocking at me ? ” 

Mile. Rumigny, feeling amazed at being thus 
addressed, for she suspected nothing, and was not 
even aware of her cousin’s call, looked at her 
father with as much surprise as fear, and knew 
not what to answer. 

Yes, you mock at me,” resumed the old man 
ironically : ‘‘ you are having a fine love-affair with 
Balterini. Ah, you thought that I did not see 
your grimaces ! You took me for a father in a 
comedy, for an imbecile.” 

‘^Father!” implored Margaret, painfully dis- 
turbed by M. Rumigny’s anger. 

Come, is it true, or not } Is this Italian mak- 
ing love to you Has he told you that he loved 
you } I ask you only to know what you answered 
him. I am sure that you treated him as he de- 
serves. But why did you not let me know } I 
should have sent him away.” 

The young girl was silent, feeling deeply humil- 
iated, and trying to arm herself with courage for 
the struggle which she saw was coming. 

‘'Well, answer me.” 

He shook both of her hands which he held. 

“ Not now,” said Mile. Rumigny, disengaging 


178 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT, 

herself gently : this evening, to-morrow, when 
you are calmer/’ 

‘‘I wish to know at once.” 

Margaret raised her head : she looked more 
assured, as if ashamed of her weakness. 

Very well,” she said : “ after all, it is better .to 
conceal nothing from you. It is true, M. Bal- 
terini has confessed that he loves me.” 

‘‘The wretch ! and you } ” 

“I — I also love him.” 

“Unhappy girl! Do you think I will endure 
this scandal t ” 

“ Where is the scandal, father } Robert” — 

“ I forbid you to call him by that name.” 

“ Pardon ! M. Balterini belongs to an excellent 
family. He is a great musician, destined to be- 
come celebrated, as you have said a hundred 
times, and he wishes to make me his wife.” 

“ His wife ! Ah, did you think that I would 
ever consent to this marriage } Thus it is in my 
house that you have abused my confidence, that 
you have mocked me, scorning my authority, in a 
way to make me the sport of the whole city. Oh ! 
let this Italian never set foot here again, unless ” — 

The old man, who in his anger was walking 
around from one piece of furniture to another, 
pushing them along with his feet and hands, seized 
a porcelain basket on a buffet, and throwing it to 
the floor, broke it in a thousand pieces. 

The young girl uttered a cry of terror, and, pale 
as de^th, sank pn a phair, 


A CATASTROPHE, 


179 


M. Rumigny, ashamed and frightened, hastened 
to her, kneeled before her, and said, holding her in 
his arms, — 

“ Margaret, my child, pardon me : it is because 
I am so unhappy ! You do not love this man : it 
is impossible. You could not leave your poor old 
father, you who are his whole joy and pride, to 
follow a stranger. He has taken your heart 
against your will. Who could adore you as I do } 
Do I ever refuse you any thing } Are you not 
absolute mistress here 1 Answer me, my little 
Margot ; tell me that you forgive me. Come, if 
you wish, we will leave for Paris to-morrow, and 
from there we will go wherever you wish : to Italy, 
— no, not to Italy, but to Germany, to Switzerland. 
You shall see how happy you can be.'^ 

And the selfish father smiled, and kissed his 
daughter. He was odious and ridiculous at the 
same time. 

Margaret did not answer, and tears flowed silent- 
ly from her eyes. 

“ It is understood, is it not } resumed the old 
man rising : ‘^you will think no more of him. Do 
you promise ? ** 

Father,’^ murmured the unhappy child, when 
my cousin asked you for my hand, you told me 
that you would leave me free to choose my hus- 
band.” 

‘‘ Yes, perhaps I did. You know, one says such 
things without thinking that some day this misfor- 
tune may come. Most certainly you will marry ; 


i8o NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

I am not a tyrant : but not at present, as there is 
time enough. You are not yet twenty. In the 
first place, I do not wish a foreigner : in the 
second place, M. Balterini is not the person for 
you : I know him better than you do.” 

'' I have told you that I love him, and I will 
never bear any other name but his.” 

“ His name is not Balterini.” 

I know it. He has told me every thing. His 
misfortunes, the cause of his exile, and his true 
name, — I know all.” 

He told you also that he is under sentence to 
ten years imprisonment } ” 

Yes.” 

‘‘And this is the man whose wife you wish to 
become ! — a conspirator, and even worse perhaps.” 

“ Father ! ” 

But the old man was again overcome with anger. 
His daughter’s resistance, which he thought con- 
quered, exasperated him. He no longer listened 
to any thing. “ No ! ” he cried, “ a hundred times 
no. Rather than yield, I would prefer” — 

M. Rumigny checked himself. The dining- 
room door had just been opened to admit Balterini. 

“ What are you coming here for } ” he cried, 
moving towards the Italian, in spite of Margaret’s 
efforts, who seized him by the arm. 

Surprised at this reception which he so little 
expected, the young man stopped, turning a ques- 
tioning look upon M. Rumigny and his daughter. 

The old man’s excited face and his daughter’s 


A CATASTROPHE. i8i 

red eyes told him plainly that some violent scene 
had just taken place between them ; but he did 
not yet understand why he was received so rudely. 

'' It is to you I am talking,” resumed the old 
dilettante threateningly. ‘‘ Ah ! you thought that 
you had only to enter this house to carry on your 
profession of seducer. But you reckoned without 
me. Begone ! I turn you from my house ! ” 

Sir ! ” cried Balterini in indignation, and 
understanding at last. 

‘‘ Yes, I turn you from my house : do you hear, 
M. Romello ? ” repeated M. Rumigny, laying in- 
tentional emphasis on the young man’s true name. 

Oh, father, father ! ” groaned Margaret. 

Say nothing, mademoiselle,” said Robert. 
‘‘ Through love and respect for you I can endure 
your father’s insults. I will leave. May God for- 
give him ! ” 

He went to the door, after giving a last look to 
her he loved. 

May God forgive me, you say,” hurled the old 
man, maddened by the very calmness of the musi- 
cian. May God forgive me ! Well, if you have 
not left Rheims in twenty-four hours, I will ap- 
ply to the crown-attorney, you wretch ! ” 

‘^Ah, take care, sir!” said Balterini, starting 
forward at this new outrage and at this threat, 
for I might forget your age. If it were not for 
the angel who entreats for you ” — 

** What would you do ? Do you think, indeed, 
that you are dealing with a coward like your- 
self.?” 


i 82 number thirteen rue marlot 

And, tearing himself from his daughter’s clasp, 
M. Rumigny sprang towards the Italian, with 
youthful rapidity, and gave him a rude blow in the 
face. 

Balterini gave a cry, and lifted his arm to avenge 
himself ; but Margaret, who sprang between her 
lover and her father, arrested the blow, and the 
insulted man at the same moment felt himself 
drawn vigorously backward. 

At the noise of the quarrel, born of his shame- 
ful information, M. Morin, who had not left the 
house, hastened to the scene, and through pru- 
dence he asked one of the servants to accompany 
him. 

These two men prevented the foreigner from 
throwing himself upon the old man, whose atti- 
tude was provoking, and whom his daughter tried 
in vain to calm. 

Balterini, mad with shame and anger, was fright- 
fully pale. His eyes flashed lightning, and his 
teeth gritted against each other. 

It was easily to be seen that with one single 
movement he could have freed himself from those 
who held him back, but Margaret’s beseeching 
looks kept him motionless. 

This lasted a few seconds ; then he threw off 
the spell in which she held him, and, freeing him- 
self, hastened to the dining-room door ; when he 
reached it he fumed round, and cried, addressing 
M. Rumigny, — 

‘‘You have mortally insulted me, sir: I must 


A CATASTROPHE. 


183 

have every drop of your blood to wash out my 
shame. If you do not make me reparation, I will 
kill' you as I would a dog, and as surely in ten 
years as to-morrow. I swear to you on the life of 
your child, on my eternal salvation ! ” 

And without answering the young girl’s cry of 
fear the Italian disappeared. 

Remaining alone with his daughter and M. 
Morin, M. Rumigny did not understand how odi- 
ous his conduct had been. He saw only his vic- 
tory ; and when he saw Margaret, half dead in a 
chair, he had not even a word of pity. 

Selfish and cowardly in the presence of another’s 
grief, he confided her to the care of the maid who 
had entered the room ; and taking his nephew’s 
arm, whose base, vile soul overflowed with joy, 
he went quickly out into his garden, in the open 
air, to overcome a fit of apoplexy that threatened 
him. 

As to the unhappy child, she went to her room 
a prey to the deepest despair. As little experi- 
ence as she had, she knew that Balterini would 
never forgive her father, that he would wish to 
avenge himself, and that his honor demanded it, 
and that she then would be separated from him 
forever. 

That was not all : she remembered that M. 
Rumigny had threatened to denounce the Italian ; 
and the most cruel remorse tortured her, for she 
already saw Robert paying for his love with his 
liberty, and perhaps even with his life. 


1 84 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


‘' It is I who have put him in danger/' she mur- 
mured between her sobs. 

Suddenly her tears ceased to flow, and her face 
wore an expression of strange resolution ; and, 
after nervously writing a few lines, she begged her 
maid to take them immediately to M. Balterini. 

The woman was devoted to her, and she knew 
that the errand would be faithfully performed. 

She feared only one thing, and that was that 
Robert might not have returned to his house. 

She was mistaken. The young man, caring lit- 
tle to be seen in the excited state into which the 
scene we have just related had thrown him, has- 
tened to shut himself up in his room, to think of 
the course he would take. When Mile. Rumi- 
gny’s messenger handed him her letter, Balterini 
was still pale, but perfectly calm. 

This letter contained but few lines : — 

“Robert," said Margaret, “you wish my father's 
life, to avenge the outrage of which you have been 
the victim. Forget and forgive ; for I give you my 
whole life in exchange. Where shall your wife 
join you } " 

On reading this note, in which the generous 
child had placed her whole soul, Balterini started 
with joy and pride ; and, after reflecting a few 
moments, he hastily wrote a few words which he 
gave to the maid. Like Mile. Rumigny he had a 
hundred times proved the intelligence and devotion 
of this worthy girl. 


ALONE. 


185 


CHAPTER XVIL 

ALONE. 

The house that M. Rumigny occupied had two 
entrances : the principal one, from the Rue de 
Talleyrand ; the other, beyond the garden, behind 
the servants* quarters, from an alley where there 
were only store and coach-houses ; and which was 
deserted as soon as it was dark. 

Balterini, in answer to Margaret’s note, said that 
he would await her there at eleven o’clock in the 
evening. He was so perfectly certain of the 
young girl, that he spent his day in preparations 
for departure. 

Without giving any one an inkling of his plan, 
he scrupulously paid what he owed here and there; 
procured an excellent carriage and two horses, 
telling the man of whom he hired that he was 
going to Epernay, where he must be the next 
morning to attend a religious ceremony; and he 
ordered the coachman to be at the corner of the 
Rue Saint-Jacques, where he lived, at about half- 
past ten. 

When this was arranged, he went to dine at the 
restaurant where he ordinarily took his meals, and 
found by the manner in which some of his ac- 


1 86 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARIO T. 

quaintances greeted him, whom he met there, that 
his quarrel with M. Rumigny was not known. 
Re-assured on this first point, he returned home, 
as was his habit when he did not go into society ; 
for he led an exemplary life of regularity and 
steadiness. 

Meanwhile, with a calmness and firmness that 
would have astonished those who knew her, Mar- 
garet, also prepared to depart. 

She had the courage to sit at table opposite 
her father ; but, either because the old man was 
ashamed of his conduct or because he simply 
dreaded a new scene, he hardly spoke a word to 
her. When she rose to leave the room, he dared 
not ask her to kiss him good-night. 

As ten o’clock approached, she told her maid 
that she wished to go to sleep ; and, when once 
alone, she put the letters, her mother’s portrait, 
her jewels and silver, in a little box, then wrote M. 
Rumigny the following lines: — 

‘‘Father, you have offered a deadly insult to the 
man I love ; to avert the vengeance with which he 
has threatened you, I give him my life. The day 
that you will pardon him, your daughter, who loves 
you tenderly, will hasten to throw herself at your 
feet.” 

She placed this note in a conspicuous place on 
the table, and waited. 

It soon struck eleven. Her room was opposite 
that of her father, and from her windows she 
could see that it was still lighted ; and she heard 


ALON'E, 


187 

him performing an interminable piece by Pergolesi, 
no doubt to drive away his disagreeable thoughts. 

She threw him a farewell look across the garden, 
and, after wrapping herself in a large cloak, reso- 
lutely opened the door of her room, and went to 
the end of an entry to reach the back-stairs that 
led to the entrance of the coach-house. 

There she had to creep along, for it was perfect- 
ly dark. After hitting now and then against the 
various objects which encumbered this passage- 
way, she succeeded in reaching the gate of the 
alley, the key of which she had procured during 
the day. She opened it,, and, without thinking of 
shutting it, sprang forward. It was the last effort 
her strength would allow ; and had it not been for 
Balterini, who received her in his arms, she would 
have fallen to the ground. 

“ Margaret ! ” Robert ! ” were the only words 
they exchanged ; and the Italian, who was strong, 
raised the young girl as he would a child, and bore 
her to the carriage stationed a few steps farther 
off. Although it was midsummer, the sky was 
cloudy, and the night dark.. 

They met no one : the coachman, who was sleep- 
ing on his box, awoke only when the young man 
ordered him for the second time to start, and he 
was quite unaware that he was conveying two pas- 
sengers. 

Mile. Rumigny sank back exhausted on the 
cushions ; and Balterini kneeled before her. 

They remained thus a long time without speak- 


i88 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

ing ; Robert thinking only of his happiness, and 
Margaret frightened at what she had just had the 
boldness to accomplish. 

The horses flew over the dusty road at a gallop ; 
but when they moderated their gait to ascend the 
mountain crowned by the forest of Monchenot, 
Balterini perceived that the young girl was weep- 
ing. 

‘‘Margaret,'' he said, gently drawing down her 
hands from her face, “ I do not wish to owe you to 
a moment of excitement and despair. I love you 
with all the strength of my soul ; but rather than 
see you weep, and cause you to suffer, I would 
sacrifice my love, were the sacrifice to cost me my 
life. There is time yet : we can, if you wish, 
return on the road we have just passed over. I 
will take you to your door, and will go away forever ; 
and never, I swear to you, will your father or you 
hear of me again." 

Margaret answered these words of abnegation 
and lov^ by drawing the Italian’s head to her 
bosom, and whispering in his ear, “ Robert, I am 
your wife, and I love you." 

Two hours later, the fugitives took the express- 
train coming from Strasbourg, and at six o'clock 
in the morning they reached Paris. 

Balterini did not intend to remain long in this 
city ; for he did not know how the French govern- 
ment had answered the demand for his extradition, 
and he wished to remain there only long enough 
to hear from M. Rumigny, in case the old man. 


ALONE, 


189 


yielding to paternal affection, should write his 
daughter to return to him, tod would be willing to 
authorize her marriage. 

Mile. Rumigny’s first care was to write her 
father a respectful but firm letter, in which she 
told him where to address his answer ; and Robert 
called on one of his compatriots, who told him 
that the Italian court had not yet taken any steps 
in regard to their subject. 

This friend had this information from a reliable 
source, and was no less assured of being always 
informed, in time of need, of the progress of this 
affair which just now made the political exile 
anxious. He was, besides, persuaded that the 
government would not accord his extradition. 

This was a precious respite for the lovers : they 
could wait for M. Rumigny’s answer without dan- 
ger. But when a whole week passed without the 
selfish, vain old man giving any sign, Balterini 
thought of nothing more but ordering his life so 
that Margaret should want for nothing. 

They left the Hotel du Nord, where they had 
stopped, and took a small furnished apartment in 
the Rue de I’Est. And there, a fortnight later, 
the young girl received a letter from her devoted 
maid, who informed her of what happened the 
day after her departure. M. Rumigny, more furi- 
ous than despairing, would not even read his 
daughter’s letter. He told every one that he had 
sent her to Florence, to live with an old relative 
who had long been wishing her to come ; and he 


190 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


refused to see any one, even his nephew, and 
threatened to turn away any of his servants who 
should speak Margaret’s name. 

Mile. Rumigny knew her father too well to 
hope that he would ever forgive her, and the sad 
news therefore did not surprise her; and, resigned 
to being thus forsaken, she now thought only of 
devoting her whole life to him she loved, who 
henceforth would take the place of her family. 

On writing to Alberti what had happened -at M. 
Rumigny’s, Balterini imparted to him his project 
of living at Paris on his talent as a musician ; 
and the great master at once sent him letters of 
introduction, that he might quickly be relieved 
from his unfortunate situation. Among these let- 
ters was one to a priest well known to amateurs 
of sacred music. It was the abbe Mouriez, the 
curate of the parish of Saint-Denis. 

M. Mouriez became acquainted with the great 
Italian co’mposer on a pilgrimage to Rome, and 
had corresponded with him ever since. 

, Robert was received by the worthy priest in the 
kindest manner; and, thanks to him and his illus- 
trious teacher’s recommendations, he soon had as 
much work and as many pupils as he could desire. 

The young household therefore lived happily. 
Margaret went out but little, and tried to hide the 
sadness that filled her heart whenever she thought 
of her father’s home. 

Balterini always found- her with a smile on her 
lips, and more loving every day. He had only one 


ALONE, 


191 

dream and one desire : to regulate their social sit- 
uation by a marriage as soon as possible. But 
they were obliged to wait till, in the first place, 
the young girl should attain her twenty-first 3^ear, 
to have the right to address a petition to her 
father, and next till Balterini’s position as a politi- 
cal exile was well defined, and he could procure 
the necessary papers, in order that he might no 
longer have to be on the qui vive. 

The summer and beginning of autumn thus 
passed ; and Robert, absorbed in his love and 
work, was living in perfect quiet, when the friend 
who informed him of the movements of the Italian 
court with the French government, hastened to 
him one morning in great alarm. 

‘^You have time only to take leave,’’ said his 
compatriot, after assuring himself that no one 
could hear him: have just learned from the 

minister of foreign affairs that your extradition 
will be granted.” 

Brave as he was, Balterini trembled at this un- 
expected blow. He did not for one moment think 
of himself, but of Margaret — what would become 
of her ? 

He soon remembered that the moments were 
precious. Then, without asking further informa- 
tion of his friend, whom he knew incapable of the 
least exaggeration, he told all to his young wife. 

Robert,” she simply answered, ** ought not a 
wife to follow her husband 

A few hours later, they took the train to Havre. 


192 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

Balterini had been thinking of going to Ameri- 
ca, having had advantageous offers from there a 
few weeks before, while he was living so quietly at 
Paris ; but when he imparted this project to Mar- 
garet she could not help turning pale, and he felt 
that he was asking a sacrifice beyond her strength. 
For Mile. Rumigny, although she never spoke of 
it, still hoped for her father’s forgiveness. The 
letters that she had written him had remained un- 
answered, it is true; but she would not believe 
that the old man, whose only child she was, would 
not think of her some day. Moreover he might be 
taken sick, and die, and she would wish to hasten 
to him to close his eyes. 

Another reason, and one much more powerful 
in the eyes of the Italian, compelled him not to 
impose so long and painful a journey on Margaret ; 
for she was soon to become a mother, and her 
health was delicate. 

After weighing and calculating every thing they 
decided that an immediate separation was neces- 
sary, whether Balterini left for America, or waited 
at Havre for the result of the steps which his 
friend Alberti was taking in Italy, to obtain, if not 
his pardon, at least the consent to have his sen- 
tence commuted to that of banishment. 

By returning alone to Paris, and letting it be 
known indirectly to her father, Mile. Rumigny 
might, perhaps, lead him and the French authori- 
ties to suppose that Balterini was abroad, which 
would enable him to remain at Havre without 


ALONE, 


193 


being disturbed, till events should render his 
departure necessary or useless. 

Quite to the contrary of what M. de Fourmel 
thought, the musician was not without pecuniary 
resources. In the first place, his family had sent 
him some comparatively large sums, and then he 
had earned some money at Paris : therefore he 
could, after keeping for himself what was indis- 
pensable, remit to his young wife what was ne- 
cessary for suitable lodgings and several months’ 
support. 

That she might not be without help and counsel 
in the great city, he gave her a letter to the Abbe 
Mouriez, in which he told the whole truth ; for he 
was sure the kind and worthy priest would take 
pity on them both. 

The parting between the two lovers was sad, as 
may be supposed ; but it was the only means of 
safety for Balterini, and Margaret accepted it as 
an expiation. 

Robert, besides, could write to her often, and 
even see her secretly, when he could without 
danger. 

It was in this situation, and with the hope of a 
near re-union, that Mile. Rumigny returned to 
Paris. And we know what terrible tragedy con- 
trolled her future. 

Let us, then, return to her at Saint-Lazare. 


194 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AT SAINT-LAZARE. 

Mlle. Rumigny, transferred to the prison at 
Saint-Lazare, by M. de FourmePs order was placed 
in the prisoners’ quarters. 

The magistrate, who, notwithstanding his se- 
verity, was far from being inhuman, had, as . we 
have said, ordered that the prisoner should be sur- 
rounded by every necessary care, but had also 
ordered her to be kept in absolute confinement. 

Excepting the physician of the establishment, 
and the sisters, no one must approach her. 

In order to strictly follow these instructions, 
the director of the jail had placed his new boarder 
on the third story, in one of the cells in the 
nurses’ section. 

This cell, in which usually two or three prisoners 
were shut up, was sufficiently large. It received 
air and light through a broad grated window which 
looked out on the court in which one could still 
see, shaded by a fcAV sickly trees, a lavatory, where, 
according to the legend created by Eugene Sue, 
Fleur de Marie washed her linen. 

The floor of this room was worn by much 
washing. Its whole furniture comprised a bed 


AT SAINT-LAZARE. 


195 


better than that of many poor people, a wooden 
table, two straw chairs, and a porcelain stove, 
whose black pipe stood out against the chilling 
whiteness of the whitewashed walls. 

It was here in this wretched room, that the 
young girl whose childhood had been surrounded 
by care and comfort was to pass many long, sad 
days ; it was here that she, whose love was to be 
her destruction, must suffer, without a friendly 
hand to clasp hers, or an affectionate voice to 
whisper. Courage ! 

Fortunately, a few moments after Margaret’s 
arrival, the clerk of the prison had received the 
sum of twenty dollars, addressed to Mile. Ru- 
migny, from some anonymous person. They had 
been able to put the poor woman on the regime of 
extra fare, that is to say, had given her fire, linen, 
and sheets, which the director of Saint-Lazare, let 
us hasten to say, would have done gratuitously, 
it is certain, through pity, and in spite of rules. 

For Margaret’s situation was grave. After the 
violent emotions she had experienced, and the ter- 
ror she had felt at the station, — a terror whose 
awful result was the death of her child, — she had 
been seized with delirium. 

The doctor feared a brain-fever, which would 
render her peculiar physiological conditions even 
more dangerous, and he could not answer for her. 

For a fortnight, indeed, Mile. Rumigny was in 
danger ; and, notwithstanding the sister’s intelli- 
gent and devoted care, she came near dying. 


196 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT, 


The director of Saint-Lazare, whom M. Adolphe 
Morin had come to see, was touched by the indul- 
gence and kindness of this relative. 

I do not know,” said M. Rumigny's nephew, 
‘^whether my cousin is guilty, or not; but what 
has happened is an irrevocable misfortune for all 
of us. However, what I do not wish to forget is, 
that she is the daughter of a man who has been a 
second father to me : therefore, I beg you, have as 
much consideration for her as your duty will per- 
mit ; do not let her want for any thing. I will 
take charge of every thing. Who knows } per- 
haps the unhappy woman was an unconscious tool 
in the hands of the wretch who deserted her.” 

And the excellent M. Morin (for thus they called 
him in the court and in the clerk’s office) came 
almost every day to ask after the prisoner. 

He had, besides, done one thing which was of 
a nature to call forth every one’s sympathy and 
Margaret’s gratitude : he had saved her child from 
the common grave. 

Thanks to him, its little body was lying under 
the roses in the cemetery at Montmartre. 

When they spoke to him of this kind act, he 
answered with a blush, — 

The poor mother will be able at least to go 
and pray over her child’s grave, when she will re- 
gain her liberty. No one desires more earnestly 
than I the proof of her innocence, and her return 
to health.” 

One of the wishes of this devoted friend was to 


AT SAINT-LAZARE. 


197 


be granted more speedily than had been expected. 
Youth triumphed over disease; and the physician 
at Saint-Lazare affirmed one morning that Mile. 
Rumigny was saved. 

But; though her body recovered its strength, her 
soul was crushed. When she tried to think of 
what had happened since the gloomy day when 
she wished to die, when she remembered, her first 
cry was, My daughter ! ” from the terrible night 
when fear had taken her reason, she fell into such 
profound despair that those who visited her won- 
dered if death would not have been a deliver- 
ance. 

The unfortunate woman remained motionless 
and silent for whole days, insensible to the kind 
words of the sister, her guardian, who offered her 
all the consolations of religion. 

Nothing roused her till the cries of the children 
(we have said that her cell was in the nurses’ sec- 
tion) reached her : then she wept. 

Informed by the director of Saint-Lazare, that 
the condemned was in a condition to answer to 
justice, M. de Fourmel humanely waited some time 
longer ; then, one day, instead of having her 
brought to his office, he went to visit her in her 
cell. 

He was alone, which was not legal, for all ques- 
tioning must be made in presence of a clerk, in 
order that the slightest answers from the prisoner 
may be consigned to a legal document. 

The legislator, in desiring this legal form of pro- 


198 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

cedure — as we think, at least, — did not aim solely 
to make it impossible for the accused to deny on 
the morrow what he said the day before : he went 
farther still, and resolved to shield him from it. 

One can indeed imagine that in the hands of 
a skilful magistrate, questioning him alone in his 
cell, the prisoner is easily led. The tone in which 
they talk to him may make him forget that he is 
answering the representative of the law, promises 
may seduce him, and the turn of conversation lead 
him to explanations which the judge is free to take 
for confessions. 

The law, which is more dignified in its course, 
resorts to neither this struggle nor these snares. 
In England they go farther still : the accused is 
not even examined. 

On seeing M. de F'ourmel enter. Mile. Rumigny 
did not recognize him at first ; but at the sound of 
his voice she remembered, and her face, that was 
already so pale, became livid. 

''Mademoiselle,’* said the magistrate, "it rests 
only with you to quickly end the severe restrictions 
to which I have had to force you to submit ; and 
that is, to tell me the whole truth.” 

" The truth,” answered the young woman sadly, 
" about what } I know nothing.” 

"Did you not know that your father was to 
come to Paris ? ” 

" He did not answer my letters, and I did not 
expect to see him again.” 

" Did M. Rumigny lyiow where you lived ? ” 


AT SAINT-LAZARE. 


199 * 


wrote to him, giving him my address/’ 

^‘Did you tell him how M. Tissot manages to 
come in at any hour, without having to give his 
name to the concierges in your house ? ” 

Never, sir.” 

How could he have known it } ” 

I do not know.” 

'‘Yet it is you who told Balterini of this same 
way.” 

“Yes, I confess it.” 

“Do you think it was Balterini who told M. 
Rumigny of this signal } ” 

“ Robert ? ” 

“ Yes ; Robert Balterini, since it is he who killed 
your father. You understand that M. Rumigny 
could not have introduced himself into that house 
secretly except by the aid of that man or your- 
self. None of the tenants knew M. Rumigny, and 
could not have had any motive for his death.” 

A terrible thought, no doubt, passed through 
Margaret’s mind ; for her pallor became frightful, 
and she stammered between her sobs, — 

“ Oh, leave me, sir ! leave me. I will answer 
you no more.” 

M. de Fourmel, whom this new emotion of the 
prisoner had not escaped, insisted, however, — 

“ You know, at least, where Balterini is } ” 

“No, sir, no. I know nothing. I will say 
nothing,” groaned the unhappy woman. 

“You understand,” concluded the magistrate, 
“in what sense I ought to interpret your refusal 


200 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


to answer. You will reflect, I hope, on the very 
grave consequences for yourself which your course 
may have. I shall return.'’ 

Mile. Rumigny allowed the magistrate to leave 
without adding a single word ; and, when she found 
herself alone, she threw herself on her knees, 
murmuring, — 

‘‘ My God ! save him. Let me alone be pun- 
ished." 

A few days later M. de Fourmel returned to 
Saint-Lazare, accompanied this time by his clerk : 
but he tried in vain to make Margaret talk ; she 
held to the summary answers which she had pre- 
viously made. 

It seemed as if the young woman had irrevoca- 
bly planned a line of conduct, from which no 
urging, snares, or tricks would make her deviate. 

Without wearying her, ^he magistrate made 
three new attempts at irregular intervals, but with 
no more success. At the end of a month he was 
as far ahead as on the first day. 

“Mademoiselle," said he to Margaret, as he 
was about to separate from her for the last time, 
“it is my duty to warn you that your refusal to 
answer is, to me, a tacit confession of your com- 
plicity. You can choose a defender, for I shall 
ask to have you sent to the court of assizes as 
an accomplice of your father's murder." 

“Very well, sir," answered the prisoner, in a 
low voice, in a tone of resignation impossible to 
render. 


AT SAINT-LAZARE. 


201 


‘‘You are not unaware that the accomplice of 
a crime incurs the same penalty as the principal 
author of it. Remember that the accusation is a 
premeditated murder for Balterini, and a parricide 
for you.’' 

“ I have nothing to say to you : do with me what 
you wish.” 

Convinced that he would obtain nothing from 
the prisoner, M. de Fourmel decided to retire. 
However, he did not leave Saint-Lazare till he had 
released Mile. Rumigny from the close confine- 
ment in which she had been placed since her 
entrance to prison, the order for which the young 
magistrate had not failed to renew every ten days, 
as is required by Article 613 of the criminal code, 
— an article that is too little respected. 

On returning to the court, much annoyed at his 
failure, M. de Fourmfl received the card of a man 
whose name he had certainly nearly forgotten : 
William Dow. 

Little inclined as he felt to see him, he ordered 
the American to be admitted, and did not fail to 
offer him a seat. 

“ Sir,” said the foreigner in answer to a motion 
of the magistrate, to make known the purpose of 
his visit, “you, no doubt, are aware, that, had it 
not been for me, Mile. Rumigny would not be in 
your hands.” 

“I know with what devotion you jumped into 
the water to save her. That is an act of courage 
for which justice should be grateful to you.” 


202 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


“ I thank you ; but, if I take the liberty of re- 
minding you of this fact, it is not to be praised 
for it : in my place any courageous man, knowing 
how to swim, would have done as much ; but it 
is to excuse myself for the interest I take in this 
young woman.” 

The magistrate bowed, as if to express that he 
thought that feeling quite natural. 

Mr. Dow continued, — 

Allow me to speak to you plainly.” 

Go on, sir.” 

Mile. Rumigny is at Saint-Lazare. Do you 
believe her, then, an accomplice of her father’s 
violent death } Pardon me for this boldness.” 

'' I am going to answer you with equal frank- 
ness. Yes, Mile. Rumigny is an accomplice of this 
crime, of which Balterini is the principal author. 
The facts have been mathematically proved to 
me, as well by the correspondence which I have 
seized, as by the obstinate silence of this young 
woman : I ought almost to say, by her avowals.” 

‘‘Could you not, in consequence, put off this 
affair a little } ” 

“By doing that I should be failing in all my 
duties.” 

“I regret it deeply; for it seems to me, sir, that 
if* I had but a few weeks, it would be possible for 
me to prove to you Mile. Rumigny’s innocence.” 

“ I understand perfectly, and I appreciate, the 
feeling which guides you ; but my conviction is 
quite different. We magistrates, sir, are not 


AT SAINT-LAZARE, 


203 


dreamers : we go straight to our end, without con- 
cerning ourselves about the consequences of our 
acts. We obey only our conscience.” 

These words were spoken in a tone that cut 
short all conversation. 

Mr. Dow understood it. 

Full of confidence in his deductions, and imbued 
with his infallibility, M. de Fourmel had again 
become even with the man who had been so use- 
ful to him, the dry and sharp magistrate whom we 
know. 

‘‘ Sir,” said the American, rising, ** I will not 
insist further, but will come to the second motive 
of my visit. My business calling me to America, 
I wished out of respect for you to notify you of 
my departure. It will perhaps be impossible, in 
spite of my desire, to be back for the trial.” 

I thank you, sir, for this step : your written 
deposition. will be read to the court. 

The stranger bowed, and took leave of M. de 
Fourmel. 

A few moments later he rang at M. Lachaud’s 
door, on the second story of No. ii of the Rue 
Bonaparte. 

The celebrated lawyer was by chance at home, 
and disengaged. 

William Dow was immediately introduced into 
his study, whose walls could tell so many mysteri- 
ous and terrible secrets. 

He remained there a long time ; and when he 
left, his face, usually so calm, expressed the liveli- 
est satisfaction. 


204 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 

The next morning Mile. Rumigny received the 
following letter, opened by the clerk as the rules 
order : — 

Mademoiselle, — Two months ago, on leaving you at 
the door of the office of the prefecture of police, I said to 
you, ‘ Courage ; ’ to-day I repeat the same word, ‘ Courage.’ 
If you think you owe any gratitude to him who saved you, 
follow my advice, beg M. Lachaud to take charge of your 
defence. At your first appeal he will be with you. 

You will soon see me again. 

William Dow. 

He,’' murmured the prisoner, ‘‘he again ! Do 
I owe him gratitude } Would not death be prefer- 
able to all that I suffer ? Why should I let my- 
self be defended } ” 

However, she wrote to the famous lawyer ; and, 
as the American had asserted, M. Lachaud has- 
tened to her. 

Margaret had never seen him ; but, when he 
appeared on the threshold of her cell, it seemed 
to her that she had known him a long time, for, 
springing forward to meet him, she cried, clasp- 
ing her thin hands, and with an accent of inex- 
pressible gratitude, — 

“Oh, thank you, sir ! thank you for coming.” 

“It was my duty, mademoiselle,” answered M. 
Lachaud kindly. 

He gently led his client to the seat she left to 
meet him, and seated himself beside her. 

There is not one of our readers who may not 
know the greatest criminal lawyer of our day, and 


AT SAINT-LAZARE, 


205 


we could therefore dispense with sketching his 
portrait ; but it is such a good fortune for a writer 
to have to speak of the great man whose name has 
been attached to almost all the great cases for 
twenty-five years, that we may be allowed to 
devote a few lines to him. Besides, we do not 
know a more interesting face. 

One should have heard M. Lachaud several 
times to understand the varied forms of his ora- 
torical talent. No defender knows better how to 
employ with the jury the language that best suits 
them. He cares little for fine talking then, in the 
academical sense of the word ; he wishes to con- 
vince, and he knows that it is not with flowers of 
rhetoric and redundant periphrases that one ob- 
tains this result when one talks to men accus- 
tomed by their kind of life to see things simply 
as they are, and also to listeners who rebel instinc- 
tively against the influence which eloquence may 
have over their minds. With M. Lachaud, there 
was no subtile analysis, no tricks, but facts, plain 
facts, mathematical deductions and palpable proofs. 

And how well he knows how to move one after- 
wards, when, afte« appealing to the reason, he 
appeals to the heart of the jurymen I What irre- 
sistible accents are his ! and how quickly he aban- 
dons one whom he sees persuaded, to contend 
with the other whose uncertainty he divines ! 

It is especially in such a circumstance that the 
strange look which he possesses becomes to him 
a powerful weapon. That fixed, motionless eye 


2o6 number thirteen rue harlot 

seems like a sword aimed straight at his adversa- 
ry’s body, while with the other eye he watches 
and holds those whom he has already conquered. 
One would call him one of those valiant duellists 
of the last century who fence at the same time 
with the dagger and sword. 

But when M. Lachaud has any other than a 
criminal case to defend, when he pleads before 
civil tribunals or police courts, how he rises then 
to the rank of great orators, and what free play he 
gives to his charming wit, what ironical smiles play 
around his mouth, and how his firm voice becomes 
flexible, mockfng, and cutting ! 

Besides, — to conclude by stating a single fact 
which paints M. Lachaud better than we could do 
it in words, — he has gained more cases than any 
lawyer of our day. 

His inexhaustible benevolence does not permit 
him, however, to always choose his cases. 

But Mile. Rumigny’s defence was, no doubt, 
one of those that pleased his heart and mind, for 
he talked with her a long time. 

When he left her Margaret was calmer, one 
could already read less submission in her face, and 
she apparently no longer despaired. 

M. Lachaud went to see his client two or three 
times a week; and these visits had already lasted 
a month, when one afternoon, just as she expected 
to see her defender, the door of her cell opened 
to admit a person whose face was unknown to her, 
and who was accompanied by the director of Saint- 
Lazare. 


AT SAINT-LAZARE, 


207 


It was the messenger of the court of appeal, 
who came to notify the prisoner of the continu- 
ance of her case before the court of assizes of the 
Seine. 

M. de Fourmel’s report had followed this judi- 
cial line which proves the scrupulous care which 
presides over criminal affairs in France. 

After having been communicated to the crown- 
attorney, and approved by •him, the report of the 
magistrate had been sent back to the attorney- 
general. 

The latter assigned one of his assistants to 
examine him, and this magistrate had made his 
examination. Then this examination had returned 
to the hands of the crown-attorney, and from 
there to the office of M. de Fourmel, who then 
returned the order for continuance of the case, 
before the court of assizes, of the authors of the 
crime in the Rue Marlot. 

Whatever pains M. Lachaud had taken to for- 
tify Mile. Rumigny against the shocks likely to 
come to her, the unhappy woman experienced a 
no less terrible emotion on reading this act which 
he had had copied, and in which she was accused 
of complicity in her father’s assassination. 

To this document was joined a long list of 
witnesses. She ran it over mechanically ; and one 
of the names in it, that of Adolphe Morin, awak- 
ened her saddest memories. 

Then, observing that William Dow’s name was 
not there, she murmured, lowering her head, — - 


2o8 number thirteen rue marlot 

If he forsakes me, why did he save me ? 

A few days later, on the 5th of July, the di- 
rector of Saint-Lazare came to tell his boarder, at 
nine o’clock in the morning, that she would have 
to prepare herself to be taken to prison, where 
the magistrate appointed to preside at the assizes 
was to question her according to law. 

Mile. Rumigny dressed ; and an hour later, in 
company with a sister and a guardian, she entered 
a closed carriage. 

The director of Saint-Lazare had easily obtained 
permission for the prisoner to be spared riding in 
the horrible vehicle so picturesquely nicknamed 
the punier a salade} 

At the prison, she was immediately shown into 
the director’s office, where M. de Belval, who was 
the president of the assizes during the first fifteen 
days in July, was waiting for her. 

This magistrate was one of the youngest coun- 
sellors in the Paris court, where he justly enjoyed 
the reputation of a distinguished counsellor and 
a very polite man. 

His impartiality was proverbial. To him, the 
accused was guilty only after the verdict of the 
jury. He always questioned him without severity, 
and listened to his explanations with extreme 
patience. He was the personification of justice 
in its most complete form. 

M. de Belval received Mile. Rumigny politely ; 

1 This term corresponds to the “Black Maria,” as prison-vans are 
commonly called in America., — Translator. 


AT SAINT-LAZARE. 


209 


and having invited her to sit near the table, where 
he had seated himself, he said to her, — 

Mademoiselle, the law orders me to question 
you before you appear before the jury. I am 
going, therefore, to address you a few questions ; 
but I wish first to know from yourself if you 
intend to answer me, or if you are to persist in 
the system that you have adopted during the 
course of the examination.’' 

Sir,” answered the accused, “ I have adopted 
no system : I know nothing, I can answer noth- 
ing. I can only protest my innocence.” 

Mile. Rumigny gave M. de Belval only the 
short explanations which she had furnished M. de 
Fourmel, and she again refused to explain herself 
in regard to Balterini. 

‘‘I will not insist further,” said the president, 
when he was convinced of the uselessness of his 
efforts. ‘‘ I do not ask you if you have a defender. 
I know that you have chosen M. Lachaud. I hope 
that between now and the beginning of the trial 
your lawyer will succeed in making you under- 
stand how dangerous your silence is to yourself.” 

And M. de Belval ordered the director to place 
the accused in the hands of the guardian who had 
brought her. 

Five days later, on the 9th of July, Mile. Rumi- 
gny for the second time saw the same usher appear 
who had told her of the continuance of her case : 
he came this time to tell her of the act of accusa- 
tion against her. The next day she was to appear 
before the court of assizes. 


210 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE COURT OF ASSIZES. 

Interesting events succeed each other with 
such rapidity in Paris that the tragedy in the Rue 
Marlot had long been forgotten, when the papers 
announced that the examination of the affair was 
at last concluded, and that it would be tried on the 
1 0th of July before the court of assizes of the 
Seine. 

At this news, public emotion was roused again, 
and became livelier than ever, when it was learned 
that, though the assassin had not been arrested, 
his accomplice, the daughter of the victim, would 
appear before the jury. 

A parricide, and a parricide by a woman of soci- 
ety, was more than enough to excite to the highest 
pitch the unhealthy curiosity which in the present 
day is attached to criminal trials. Therefore the 
learned counsellor charged with presiding over the 
assizes during the first session of July was soon 
besieged by a thousand eager men, and, above 
all, eager women, for to-day the most cultivated 
women seek the tragic emotions of criminal trials 
with the greatest avidity. 

The more horrible and monstrous the crime, the 
more they desire to know the author. 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES. 


211 


What would they not give to talk to him, pro- 
vided that he would answer them ! 

Very fine ladies, who in their own homes hardly 
allow their most humble adorers to touch the tips 
of their fingers, let themselves be jammed and 
jostled in the audiences of the court. Heedless 
of the rudest and most disrespectful contact, they 
wish to see and hear every thing. 

Here their lungs endure the vitiated atmosphere, 
their chaste ears are eagerly open to the coarsest 
details, and blushes no longer mount to their fore- 
heads, and in their curiosity they forget their re- 
serve and even modesty. 

So on the loth of July, long before the hour ap- 
pointed for the opening of the trial, the hall of the 
court was invaded. 

Seats reserved for the bar were filled ; the jour- 
nalists forgot their gallantry hastening to get to 
their desks ; and many frequenters of these scenes 
remained standing in the hope of occupying the 
benches of the witnesses, who, after answering 
their summons, leave the hall to wait in two or 
three small adjoining rooms until the call to ap- 
pear before the court. 

M. Meslin and Picot were naturally among the 
latter ; but the detective, who had not seen the 
commissioner of police since the day when the lat- 
ter taunted him for his stupidity, kept at a distance 
from his chief. 

Near them were seen Capt. Martin, buttoned up 
in a military coat, with a new ribbon on his breast, 


212 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


the Other tenants of No. 13, the concierges, the inn- 
keeper Tourillon, his employes, and finally M. 
Adolphe Morin, with a distressed countenance 
and in deep mourning. 

When the impatient crowd was settled, or near- 
ly so, its first excitement was caused by the pack- 
age which an office-boy came to lay on the table 
where the articles in evidence were exhibited. 

This package contained the victim’s garments 
and the weapon with which he had been struck. 
It was tied and sealed, as it was not intended to 
open it till later. 

The messenger now announced the court, and 
the audience became quiet. 

M. de Belval, the president, entered first, fol- 
lowed by his assistants ; then came the advocate- 
general Gerard, who in the trial occupied the place 
of public advocate. But every eye was soon turned 
towards a new-comer, who was modestly making 
his entrance, threading his way through the crowd. 

It was M. Lachaud. 

It had been known for a long time that the cele- 
brated lawyer had taken charge of Mile. Rumigny’s 
defence, and this news had excited the public curi- 
osity still more. For the crowd of spectators it 
was a double good fortune to enjoy the surprises 
of a murder trial, and hear the illustrious advocate. 

A few moments after M. Lachaud’s arrival, the 
judge declared in legal form, — 

“ The court is open.” 

Silence fell as if by magic, and the eminent 
magistrate gave the order, — 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES. 


213 


‘‘Let the accused enter/' 

A few seconds later Mile. Rumigny appeared, 
and looked unusually pale. She was dressed in 
black ; and the thinness of her face made her eyes, 
which were hollow and reddened with tears, appear 
still larger. 

She could hardly stand ; and the guards who 
accompanied carried rather than led her to the 
place she was to occupy on the prisoner’s bench, 
behind her lawyer. Once there, giving way to 
her emotion, she bowed her head to the railing of 
the tribune. 

M. Lachaud, who had turned towards her, said 
a few words in a low voice, and held out his hand, 
which she pressed nervously. 

The audience was quickly impressed. As in all 
affairs where there is a certain mystery, it was 
divided into two sides. 

The judge of the assizes understood it, and 
immediately recommended the crowd to abstain 
from every sign of approbation or disapprobation, 
under pain of being expelled. Next, addressing 
the prisoner, he asked her her name and surname, 
her age, and place of birth. 

“ Bertha Margaret Rumigny, twenty-one, at 
Rheims,” answered the young woman, in a scarcely 
audible voice. 

“You are about to hear the charges brought 
against you,” pursued M. de Belval ; “and I urge 
you to give the greatest attention, .for you will 
have every liberty to give the gentlemen of the 


214 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


jury and the court such explanations as you may 
judge useful for your defence/' 

And, turning to the clerk, M. de Belval added, 

Read the return of the warrant, and the accusa- 
tion." 

We do not think it necessary to reproduce the 
first of these documents, — a summary recital of 
the affair : we will quote only the last lines, which 
read as follows : — 

“ Believing from the examination that there is sufficient 
evidence against the so-called Robert Balterini, and Bertha 
Margaret Rumigny, of having on the night of the 3d of 
March committed a murder on the person of the so-called 
Louis Rumigny, we order the same to be tried, and therefore 
send them back to the court of assizes.’^ 

After this first reading, during which Mile. 
Rumigny did not move, the clerk passed on to 
read the accusation as follows : — 

“ On the night of the 3d of March last, the house No. 
13 in the Rue Marlot was the scene of a crime, so quickly 
and audaciously committed, that none of the tenants heard 
the slightest sound. 

“The next morning, towards seven o’clock, one of the 
tenants, a lady by the name of Chapuzi, who lives on the 
second story, saw, two steps off from her door, the corpse of 
an unknown man, — an old man of sixty-five years, who was 
stabbed by two thrusts of a knife. The officers of the law, 
who were immediately notified, proceeded to the scene of 
the crime ; but the first information they could obtain was 
not of a nature to put them on the tracks of the as^ssin : 
there was nothing to indicate that it was one of the tenants ; 
and what made their search more difficult was that no one 
knew how this unknown person and his murderer had been 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES, 


215 


able to effect an entrance into this house, for, as usual, the 
door had been closed at sunset the evening before, and when 
the concierges opened it the next morning, the stranger had 
been dead several hours. 

“Among the tenants of No. 13 was one of the post-office 
employes, M. Tissot, who had a certain way of ringing and 
knocking, to be able, as his duties required, to enter the 
house at any hour of the night, without needing to make 
himself known in any other way. Had the assassin and his 
victim discovered this signal ? Had they both used it at the 
same time, the one drawing the other into a trap ? This it 
was impossible to affirm ; and, after these facts ascertained, 
the law must first try to learn who was the murdered old 
man. It has succeeded in doing this. The unhappy man 
was an honorable merchant in Rheims, M. Rumigny. 

“ Pursuing investigations, it was next found that M. 
Rumigny had a daughter Margaret, who, being seduced by 
an Italian, Balterini, had fled from her father’s house with 
her lover. What had become of this daughter and this Bal- 
terini ? They had been followed from Rheims to Paris, 
but there all trace of them was lost. Nearly a month had 
elapsed ; and the criminals might have hoped for immunity, 
when the skilful magistrate charged with the management 
of the affair discovered Margaret Rumigny in the very 
house where her father had been murdered. 

“ She was hiding under the name of Mme. Bernard, and 
passed herself off as a widow ; and, as she had hardly recov- 
ered from her illness at the time the crime was committed, 
the magistrate had humanely deferred his examination till 
another time, and, besides, he thought the examination quite 
useless. 

“Now, it was at Margaret Rumigny’s house that was to 
be found the key of the mystery enshrouding the tragedy of 
the night of the 3d of March. Search led to the discovery 
of a correspondence between Margaret and Balterini which 
would explain every thing. 

“ While concealed at Havre, or in the environs, Balterini 


2i6 number thirteen rue marlot 


learned from Margaret how to reach her without being seen 
by the concierges in her house ; and in the letters, which 
leave no doubt about his projects of vengeance against M. 
Rumigny, he promised her to make use of this ruse. And 
she also confided the same means to her father ; for where 
else could the old man have learned the signal agreed 
upon between Tissot and his concierges? thus she pre- 
pared the cowardly trap into which the author of her being 
would fall. 

“ Most probably Balterini had been in the house for a 
day or two; for he had come down from the postal-clerk’s 
room, after arming himself there, to murder his victim. 

The movements in this bloody scene are easily traced. 
M. Rumigny slipped into the house, ascended the stairs, 
and was waiting at his daughter’s door for a favorable mo- 
ment to enter her apartment, and forgive her, when the 
wretch, who was watching him from an upper story, sprang 
upon him, and wounded him at the first blow, and, stopping 
him just as he was about to escape, clasped him around the 
waist to give him a mortal blow. 

“ Then, stepping over his victim’s body, he went up-stairs, 
and concealed himself in the room of the woman whose 
father he had killed. He felt that Margaret Rumigny’s 
room was the safest asylum for him ; for she was ill, and the 
law would not seek him at the bedside of a woman, who, by 
the aid of falsehoods, had gained the respect and sympathy 
of all the inmates of the house. 

“ Balterini waited there several days, perhaps a whole 
week, till he could make his escape without danger. 

“ Margaret Rumigny’s complicity in this horrible attempt 
results not only from these material proofs, from the refuge 
she offered her father’s murderer, and from her letters, but 
even more from her past, her attempt at suicide, and her 
attitude during the examination. 

‘‘It is notorious at Rheims that Margaret, as a young 
girl, had no respect or consideration for her father, and 
rebelled against his authority. The more the unhappy man 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES, 


217 


adored his child, the more he had to complain of her lack 
of affection. And when, wishing to forgive her, he came to 
Paris, called there by her whom he still loved tenderly, it 
was to fall under the knife of an assassin. 

‘‘When about to be arrested, Mile. Rumigny tried to 
commit suicide, by throwing herself in the water with her 
child, — a double crime ! Not being able to accomplish this, 
through a circumstance independent of her will, she went 
to seek death alone ; but a courageous stranger saved her. 
When placed in prison, she refused to answer questions, 
and, owing to her silence, saved her father’s murderer from 
falling into the hands of justice. 

“ In consequence, — 

“ 1st, The so-called Robert Balterini is accused of having 
committed at Paris, on the night of the 3d or 4th of March 
last, a murder on the person of M. Rumigny, with this cir- 
cumstance that the said murder was committed with pre- 
meditation. 

“2d, The so-called Bertha Margaret Rumigny, of hav- 
ing been an accomplice of the said murder above speci- 
fied, by aiding the author in the performance of what pre- 
pared the way for the deed, or facilitated or consummated it, 
owing to the fact of M. Rumigny’s being her lawful 
father. 

“ Crimes provided for by Articles 296, 297, 298, 299, 302, 
59, and 60 of the penal code.” 

During the reading of this document, so pitiless 
in deductions and so terrible in its conclusions, 
the audience had not always been able to restrain 
a shudder of horror. Margaret herself remained 
comparatively calm ; only the passages in which 
she was accused of having failed in respect* for 
her father drew forth her sobs. 

She had hidden her face in her hands, and was 


2i8 number thirteen rue marlot 

praying, no doubt, when suddenly she raised her 
head ; for among the names of the witnesses which 
the messenger called out, one after the other, she 
heard tha^t of her cousin. The blood then 
mounted to her cheeks, and she could not help 
throwing a furtive glance at her relative, who 
quickly disappeared, and she immediately sank 
back into her reflections. 

At the president’s voice calling her to herself 
she arose. 

Margaret Rumigny,” said the honorable ma- 
gistrate, “ I am going to question you ; but, before 
doing so, I wish to urge you to answer frankly. 
The system of silence which you have adopted 
during the' course of examination would not be 
of a nature to obtain for you the indulgence of 
the court if you should persist in it. Your emi- 
nent defender must have given you similar advice. 
You can remain seated if you are too weak to 
stand.” 

The unhappy woman fell back upon her bench, 
stammering her thanks. 

Her examination was begun. 

At the first questions of M. de Belval about her 
departure from Rheims, her arrival at Paris, her 
voyage to Havre, her return to Paris, and her cor- 
respondence with Balterini, Mile. Rumigny an- 
swered in full ; but, when the honorable magis- 
trate reached the important point in the examina- 
tion, that is to say, the evening before the crime, 
the accused relapsed into her obstinate silence. 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES, 


219 


''Then/' asked the president for the second 
time, " you do not know if Balterini was at Paris 
on the 3 d of March ? ” 

" I am sure that he was not/' 

" Where was he ? " 

" I do not know." 

"You do not know whether at that time he 
was in P'rance, or abroad 1 " 

" No, sir." 

" How happens it that the correspondence seized 
at your house stopped suddenly, and that, after the 
letters that seemed to indicate plans for departure 
on the part of the one charged jointly with you, 
only two or three were found without date } Bal- 
terini could not have ceased to write you for more 
than four months." 

"I can give you no explanation. I have re- 
ceived no other letters." 

" What ! here is a man who loves you passion- 
ately, he has only proved it too well, and you 
think that we believe that you remained without 
news from him for so long a time, and that 
since your arrest he has not written ! I must re- 
mark to you that this correspondence ceases just 
after the letter in which Balterini announces to 
you his near arrival in Paris. Ought we not to 
conclude that since then you have received many 
other letters, which you destroyed because they 
might compromise yourself as well as your accom- 
plice, they contained the precise details and the 
whole plan arranged between you ? " 


220 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT. 


** I have not destroyed a letter, and I do not 
know that M. Balterini has written me/’ 

Mile. Rumigny spoke these words in a low 
voice and with her head hung down. It was very 
evident to every one that she did not tell the 
exact truth. 

The audience did not understand it, and could 
not restrain a murmur of disapprobation, soon 
interrupted by the voice of the president, who 
concluded the examination of the accused by 
these severe words : — 

‘‘The gentlemen of the jury will be influenced 
by your silence.” 

M. de Belval immediately passed on to hearing 
the witnesses, beginning with M. Chapuzi and 
wife, who testified tremblingly, frightened as they 
were at speaking before such an assembly. 

The co7icierges came next ; then Capt. Martin, 
who had to take an oath with his left hand. 

We will not dwell on these explanations. They 
were the same as those given before the magis- 
trate, and Margaret heard them only confusedly ; 
but when the president, who questioned M. Tis- 
sot, ordered the messenger to open the package of 
the articles in evidence, the stir of curiosity on 
the part of the crowd roused her, and she uttered 
a cry of horror on seeing the bloody garments 
which her father wore at the time of his death. 

“ Do you recognize this knife } ” said M. de Bel- 
val to the postal-clerk, presenting him the weapon 
which the murderer had used. 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES. 


221 


Yes, sir,” answered Tissot : “it is mine.” 

“Are you sure that you left it in your room 
before closing the door behind you ? ” 

“ I placed it on some drawings to keep them 
from blowing away, and I assure you that my door 
was locked. As is my custom, I placed my key 
under my mat.” 

“You also affirm that you have not told any 
stranger of the signal between you and your co7i- 
cierges ? ” 

“ I have told no one. I believed that only the 
lodgers in the house knew it.” 

The witness who followed M. Tissot was Dr. 
Ravinel, who was charged with the autopsy of the 
victim. 

M. Ravinel was then a man in the prime of life; 
and he occupied a high situation in the medical 
corps, while his reputation for knowledge and zeal 
was justly acquired. He was perhaps open to the 
criticism of too absolute confidence in his knowl- 
edge, an unlimited confidence in his conclusions, 
and a desire to always put himself constantly on 
the stage ; and also with exaggerated ideas which 
led him astray. 

The duties of the medical examiner are care- 
fully defined. He must examine the body that is 
confided to him, but only to probe the wounds, 
and determine the kind of death to which the vic- 
tim succumbed. His judgments should not go 
beyond this. He does not need to know the 
accused, and search his mind. The living do not 
exist for him : only the dead belong to him. 


222 


NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


Now, Dr. Ravinel did not always view matters 
thus ; and too often the practitioner gave place in 
him to the magistrate, and sometimes he became 
for the accusation a more powerful auxiliary than 
the law intends. 

He was going to prove it once more, in render- 
ing an account of the examination which he made 
on the corpse in the Rue Marlot. 

Being invited to make known the result of this 
autopsy, the celebrated surgeon turned to the 
jury, and, as if he had been in the chair, expressed 
himself in these words : — 

“ The man whose body it was my duty to exam- • 
ine may have been from sixty-five to seventy years 
old, and was very stout. The corpse was no longer 
rigid ; for death had occurred more than twenty- 
four hours before. There were purplish death-like 
marks on the abdomen, elbows, and thighs. On 
the back of the right hand, I noted a slight scratch, 
which might have been made by a weapon grazing 
it. 

‘‘ On the body I noted two gaping wounds clearly 
cut on the edges, and which were made by the cut 
of a knife. The weapon must have been sharp, 
and had a keen edge. The first cut was an ob- 
lique one downwards and towards the inside, at the 
top of the neck, and under the right corner of 
the lower jaw, and was three centimetres long. 

‘‘ The weapon had penetrated fro7n front to back. 
No important artery had been severed ; and the 
wound, which was not deep, was not serious. 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES. 


223 


next noted at the bottom of the abdomen, 
near the groin on the left side, an oblique wound 
from above towards the inside. The weapon had 
penetrated very deeply from right to left, and the 
wounded man had lost much blood : the femoral 
artery had been divided, but only in part, and 
blood had trickled from it. The lungs were gray- 
ish, and somewhat injected at their base. The 
heart was empty, and the right cavities alone con- 
tained a little blood. The stomach no longer con- 
tained food. I resume, gentlemen : the death was 
owing to the hemorrhage resulting from the wound 
in the artery. There were two wounds, — one in 
the neck, and the other, in the curve of the groin ; 
that is to say, in the two parts of the body where 
murderers usually direct their blows. The death 
is the result of a crime. The individual must have 
been struck at first on the neck, then in the abdo- 
men, by a murderer, who, at first standing behind 
his victim, afterwards faced him. The scratch on 
the right hand was produced when the old man 
defended himself. Life must have lasted some 
little time after the wound in the groin, a few 
minutes, or perhaps a quarter of an hour. Death 
must have taken place four or five hours at least 
after the last meal.” 

During this deposition, of which the audience 
had not lost a single word, Margaret Rumigny had 
remained with her head in both her hands, and one 
could hear the sobs she could not restrain. 

She came to herself only when the president of 


224 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT, 

t 

the assizes sent for Picot, after having questioned 
the innkeeper of the Hotel du Dauphin, his clerks, 
and a few residents in the Rue Marlot. 

The story of the detective was a new source of 
grief to the young woman, for Picot did not fail 
to tell how he had prevented the accused from 
throwing herself into the water with her child ; 
and by the shudder among those present Margaret 
understood the reprobation which weighed upon 
her. 

None of these people knew under what terrible 
circumstances the poor little being had met with 
its death a few hours later. 

What was still more' painful to Mile. Rumigny 
was having to listen to M. Morin. 

This relative, who should have defended her, 
and addressed her indirectly a few kind words, 
seemed to accuse her with pleasure, while disguis- 
ing his hatred under a thousand hypocritical mani- 
festations of reluctance. 

The effect of this deposition on the minds of 
the jury was, that Margaret Rumigny had been a 
bad daughter, that she had always thought of free- 
ing herself from paternal authority, that M. Ru- 
migny was very anxious about the future, and that 
certainly he had come to Paris only after having 
been urgently invited by his daughter. 

Several times, while her cousin was testifying, 
Margaret stifled a cry of indignation ; but her 
defender, while taking notes, watched her, and 
exhorted her to patience. 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES. 


225 


Finally that horrible torture ended : M. Morin 
finished his deposition by a few deceitful words, 
and went to take his place on the witness-bench, 
where a murmur not at all sympathetic accom- 
panied him. 

Although the crowd had no compassion for the 
accused, instinctively they thought that this man, 
while admitting that he told only the truth, had 
just committed a wicked deed. 

M. Adolphe Morin closing the list of witnesses, 
the advocate-general Gerard immediately had the 
floor to sustain the accusation. 

Gentlemen,” he began amid the most respect- 
ful silence, "'never have I felt so strongly as to- 
day how painful is my task, but also how great. 
I have before me a woman who belongs to the Slite 
of society, who has had only good examples before 
her eyes, and ^whose education should have pre- 
served her from evil ; and I have to show you that 
she has been the accomplice of the man who in a 
cowardly manner attacked an old man, after draw- 
ing him into a trap.” 

Entering upon the facts of the case after this 
terrible introduction, M. Gerard recalled Mar- 
garet’s youth, her constant rebellion against pa- 
ternal authority ; her flight with her lover, who 
had threatened the death of the father whose 
daughter he had carried off ; her admission, thanks 
to a falsehood, into a quiet house, and her hypocrisy 
to gain the confidence of her neighbors ; then the 
odious plan' which she had concerted with Bal- 


226 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

terini to make people believe in his departure, 
and to attract to Paris the unhappy man whose 
death both wished. 

That frightful scene, gentlemen,^^ cried the 
eloquent advocate-general at this part of his speech, 
I seem to have witnessed. Being informed by 
his daughter that Tissot would not be home on 
the night of the 3d of March, M. Rumigny enters 
the house by the aid of the signal agreed. He 
ascends the stairs with a beating heart, for he is 
going to see her whom he wishes to forgive ; but, 
just as the poor father is going to knock at the 
door behind which is the object of all his affection, 
his murderer, who is watching him, springs upon 
him, and kills him. Afterwards, without caring 
for the corpse, he hides in the apartment where 
no one would think of looking for him. 

“And it is the daughter of the^dead man who 
receives the murderer covered with blood ! and 
the murderer of her father ! 

“This is so horrible, that, if the facts did not 
link together with implacable logic, we could not 
believe it. Alas ! how can it be doubted } I do 
not speak of Balterini’s crime : that is proved by 
the evidence, and I have nothing to say about it ; 
but I mean the complicity of Margaret Rumigny. 
She conceals the murderer in her home before the 
crime, and she inveigles her father there ; the deed 
being accomplished, she shelters the murderer, 
and facilitates his flight, as she has facilitated his 
attempt ; then she refuses to talk. Grief and re- 


THE COURT OF ASSIZES. 


227 


morse have not broken her silence : she wishes 
before all to save her lover, hoping, no doubt, that 
your verdict will not be unfavorable, and that she 
will be able to join him. 

‘‘ That is not all yet, gentlemen ; for that of 
which the act of accusation hardly speaks, I have 
not the right to pass over in silence. What does 
the unhappy woman do when the hand of justice 
is held out to reach her ? She seeks death, not 
alone, but with her child. She does not wish to 
appear before the divine justice convicted of one 
crime alone : she must needs try infanticide after 
parricide. You know how chance alone prevented 
Margaret Rumigny from committing this second 
attempt. Of this I will say no more. God pun- 
ished her by taking from her the poor little being 
whom she had given up to death.” 

At these words the unhappy mother could no 
longer contain herself. 

Oh, forgive, sir, forgive ! ” she said, holding 
out her hands in supplication to the advocate- 
general. 

And, not being able to say more, she fell back 
lifeless on her bench. 

This cry of the accused had such an accent 
of truth, that a murmur of compassion arose from 
the audience. 

M. Gerard, who was more moved than he wished 
to appear, waited for this to subside, and concluded 
by saying, — 

“ I have done my duty, gentlemen, painful as it 


228 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 


is. Each one of us has his task. I have repressed 
the impulses of my heart to speak to you accord- 
ing to my convictions : silence yours to pronounce 
a verdict according to your conscience.” 

Have pity on me, my God ! I am lost ! ” mur- 
mured Margaret, dropping on her knees. 

Perhaps,” said M. Lachaud in a low voice, aid- 
ing her to rise to follow the guards, who were to 
lead her to an adjacent room ; for M. de Belval 
had just suspended the hearing. 

The defender spoke this word in a voice so firm, 
and with so strange a smile, that Mile. Rumigny 
kept her hollow eyes fixed on him till the last mo- 
ment when she disappeared through the door lead- 
ing into the next room. 

But the illustrious advocate had resumed read- 
ing a little note which one of his secretaries had 
just handed him. 

This note, in a flowing English handwriting, con- 
tained only these two lines, and was not signed : — 

“ I have just arrived, and am not alone. I hope it is not 
too late.” 


WILLIAM DOW RETURNS, 


229 


CHAPTER XX. 

WILLIAM DOW RETURNS, TO THE AMAZEMENT OF 
MASTER PICOT. 

The hearing that was interrupted in the midst 
of an excitement difficult to describe, could not be 
resumed as rapidly as the public desired, in its 
impatience to hear the eloquent and sympathetic 
advocate charged with Margaret Rumigny’s de-, 
fence. 

People wondered what the eminent lawyer 
would be able to say, and what arguments he 
would bring up against these overwhelming 
charges which the public minister presented with 
so great skill, and how he would succeed in over- 
coming the effect of the terrible proofs of Marga- 
ret Rumigny’s complicity in her father’s assassi- 
nation. 

Received at first with incredulity by a part of 
the public, the accusation, owing to the talent of 
the advocate-general, soon appeared less problemat- 
ical. At the end of the examination it gained 
the majority of the wavering; and, when the pub- 
lic prosecutor had pronounced his terrible perora- 
tion, the accused had very few partisans in the 
audience. 


230 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


While still hesitating to admit that this well- 
brought-up young woman, with so sweet a face, and 
a past that was irreproachable till she sinned, — 
sinned for love ! — could have been guilty of the 
frightful crime which brought her to the court of 
assizes, some persons, judging less from their 
hearts, and more from facts, explained every thing 
by this passion, which, after having thrown Marga- 
ret into Balterini’s arms, had m^de her the docile 
instrument of his vengeance and hatred. 

The worst did not go so far as to affirm that 
Mile. Rumigny had plotted with her lover her 
father’s assassination ; but they said that, drawn 
on by a fatal chain of circumstances, she yielded 
to the obsessions of him she loved, to bring about 
between these two men, who hated each other, a 
meeting that would be disastrous to the old man. 

What pleaded against her was the obstinate 
silence that she preserved in regard to what had 
become of Balterini. It was not denied that she 
knew. 

The very interruption of this correspondence, 
which had so long been regular, was for these 
reasoners another proof of the young woman’s 
complicity. 

The reason why, so they argued, that the musi- 
cian had ended his correspondence so suddenly, was 
that he knew what had happened since his depart- 
ure ; and that after his crime he had been in- 
formed of what had occurred, and that silence 
had naturally been his first thought. 


WILLIAM DOW RETURNS 


231 


If he did not present himself to protest Marga- 
ret's innocence, it was because he was guilty him- 
self, and did not wish to be arrested, hoping that 
Margaret might not be condemned, and that she 
would then return to join him where he was 
hiding. 

M. Morin, the young woman's cousin, painted 
Margaret’s character in such colors, that, unfor- 
tunately, terrible as it was according to the accu- 
sation, one could but admit every thing relating to 
the course pursued by M. Rumigny’s daughter 
since her rebellion against her father to the bloody 
denotiment in the family tragedy. 

This exchange of opinions, and these deduc- 
tions false or true, these discussions, and the con- 
clusions drawn from them by those who entered 
upon them, occupied the audience quite a long 
while. However, when half an hour elapsed with- 
out any signs of the return of the court, people 
began to wonder why the interruption of the 
hearing was so prolonged. 

They waited a slow quarter of an hour longer 
with tolerable patience ; then, while counting the 
minutes, they began to think that something unex- 
pected and out of the common course was occur- 
ring, out of sight of the public. 

Had one of the magistrates or jury fallen sick? 
Had the accused made an attempt on her life ? 

The unexpected length of this interruption could 
not be caused by M. Lachaud ; since if he had gone 
out during the interruption, carrying certain papers 


232 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT, 

taken from his brief, he had long resumed his 
place on his bench. He remained there, in his 
favorite attitude, with his face covered with a 
handkerchief, and buried in both his hands, in an 
attitude which permits him to isolate himself in 
the midst of the noisiest crowd. 

Finally a sound was heard : the audience gave 
a sigh of satisfaction ; the messenger announced 
the court, and the magistrates as well as the jury 
returned to their seats. 

If the public had not been absorbed in watching 
the return of the accused, they might have ob- 
served the change that had taken place in the 
face of the advocate-general since the end of the 
first part of the reading. 

The honorable organ of the public ministry no 
longer had the calm, severe countenance which 
becomes the man who must be only the impartial 
interpreter of the law. M. Gerard, on the con- 
trary, seemed moved and pre-occupied. His fea- 
tures expressed, at the same time, a kind of an- 
guish and unwavering determination. 

Our readers will soon understand the terrible 
combat between truth and error in the soul of this 
upright magistrate. 

M. Lachaud, who had risen to bow to the court, 
questioned his adversary with an anxious look. 

Although he was ready to take the floor, the 
illustrious lawyer seemed to be waiting for some 
new incident. 

By the order of the president, the guards brought 
in the accused. 


WILLIAM DOW RETURNS, 


233 


The unhappy woman was of a deathly pallor, 
and could hardly support her weight ; and those 
who escorted her were obliged to lift her to get 
her over the bench on which she was to take her 
place again. 

When she reached it, she sank on it exhausted, 
and her trembling hands clung to the railing 
which separated her from her defender. 

If she did not weep, it was because her tears 
were exhausted ; and, feeling the weight of the 
curious eyes of the public upon her, she turned 
aside her head. 

‘‘ Courage ! ” said M. Lachaud, turning towards 
her, and taking both her hands. ‘‘You promised 
me to be strong.’* 

“ That is true,** murmured Margaret, almost 
inaudibly. “ Oh ! this emotion is overpowering 
me. It seems to me as if even happiness would 
kill me. But you are right. I will be worthy of 
your kindness.** 

Then, rising by a supreme effort of will, Mile. 
Rumigny cast a furtive look at the audience. She 
seemed to be seeking some one in the close ranks 
of the crowd, where M. Adolphe Morin stood half 
concealed. 

Silence at last being effected, the honorable 
president of the assizes turned to M. Lachaud, 
and he was about to give him the floor to present 
his client*s defence, when the advocate-general 
said, rising, — 

“Your honor, I ask permission to add a-few 


234 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


words to my charge, before my eloquent adversary 
can make himself heard.” 

‘‘The advocate-general has the floor,” said M. 
de Belval, with a gesture of excuse to M. Lachaud. 

The audience, as if it had a presentiment of 
some new incident, became more attentive than 
ever. 

Mile. Rumigny raised her head. Had she not, 
then, suffered enough } 

“ Gentlemen of the court, and gentlemen of the 
jury,” said the organ of the public ministry, 
“when, in your presence, an hour ago, I sustained 
the accusation that weighs on the woman whom 
you have to judge, I spoke according to my con- 
science and my convictions. I have fulfilled my 
duty with impartiality, but also with all the 
severity demanded of me by the society which we 
from this bench are appointed to protect. It 
seemed then that my task was ended ; and that, 
after the conclusions of my charge, — conclusions 
which have demanded of you, in the name of mor- 
ality and justice, to deal a heavy blow to the 
accomplice of a parricide, — there remained noth- 
ing for me to say. I thought as you do ; but I 
was mistaken. The painful part of our duty is to 
convince you of the necessity of punishing the 
guilty. Qur glory, above all, is to seek and find 
the truth, even when this truth is not in an exami- 
nation honestly conducted, in an accusation clearly 
defined, in various testimonies, and in the very 
facts of the case.” 


WILLIAM DOW RETURNS. 


235 


At the first words of M. Gerard, the curiosity of 
the audience had been greatly excited ; at this 
last phrase of the eminent magistrate, a movement 
of surprise stirred the crowd. 

What, then, did this preamble mean ? What 
unexpected incident was about to occur What 
convincing proof of guilt had the organ of the pub- 
lic ministry omitted in its charge ? Or what new 
document had been received during the interrup- 
tion of the hearing ? 

Now, gentlemen,*' pursued the eloquent advo- 
cate-general, it is in the name of this search for 
truth, which is the most sacred of all our duties, 
that I beg the president to hear, by virtue of his 
discretionary power, a last witness, — a witness 
which the magistrate besides questioned a few 
days after the unfortunate Rumigny’s death, and 
whose deposition was read in the first part of this 
hearing. It was he who sprang so courageously 
into the water to save the accused, when she 
jumped from the Austerlitz Bridge into the Seine. 
If this generous preserver has not made his appear- 
ance again before the court since that time, it is 
because, after having notified the magistrate that 
he was obliged to go away, he left France. He 
reached Paris only to-day, too late to be regularly 
summoned ; but, on learning that the trial was 
opened, he hastened to come and place himself 
under the order of the court.’* 

“ The name of this witness, sir ? ” asked the 
president. 


236 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT, 

^'William Dow/’ 

It is the name of one of the witnesses of the 
examination,” said M. de Belval, after a few mo- 
ments’ searching among his papers. ‘‘ By virtue 
of our discretionary power, we order him to be 
heard at this hearing.” 

The curiosity of the public was naturally in- 
creased ; and two of those present, in particular, 
were not able to restrain a movement of surprise, 
on hearing the American’s name spoken. They 
were M. Meslin and Master Picot, who were both 
attentively watching the trial. 

The worthy commissioner thought the foreigner 
far away. As for the detective, he had forgotten 
neither the manner in which Mr. Dow had made 
sport of him, nor the reproaches which he had 
drawn upon him. His misadventure on the road 
to Italy was still present to his mind ; and he was 
enraged at seeing the mysterious being return, to 
whom he was indebted for a souvenir so painful 
to his self-love. 

‘‘ Introduce the witness, William Dow,” ordered 
the president to one of his messengers. 

Every one’s eyes were immediately turned to the 
door, through which entered the person whom we 
know, who was still calm, dignified, and cool, just 
as we described him in the opening of this story. 

The crowd followed him with their eyes ; and a 
murmur of sympathy accompanied him, when it 
was remembered that it was to his courage that 
the accused owed her life. But M. Adolphe Morin, 


WILLIAM DOW RETURNS, 


237 


who had risen to get a better view of the new- 
comer, could not repress a movement of amaze- 
ment. He appeared to know the foreigner, and 
his face immediately assumed such an expression 
of anguish that Master Picot observed it ; and, 
being always faithful to his habits of close reflec- 
tion, he could not help murmuring, with a 
smile, — 

Eh ! Why, why ! Is any thing new coming } ” 

And he approached Margaret’s cousin as near 
as those next him would permit. 

When opposite the court, Mr. Dow bowed, and 
waited. 

Sir,” said the president, in the midst of the 
most profound silence, ‘‘the organ of the public 
ministry has requested you to appear. We have 
authorized a hearing from you by virtue of our 
discretionary power. You will not have to take 
an oath, for you can be heard only under the head 
of information. I have no need to add that you 
none the less owe to justice all the truth, and 
nothing but the truth. What is your name } ” 

“William Dow, an American citizen,” answered 
the foreigner. 

“ Your profession } ” 

“ Chief of detectives of the metropolitan police 
of New York.” 

“ One of my profession,” Picot could not help 
saying, almost aloud, turning to M. Meslin. “ Sa- 
pristi ! He no longer astonishes me.” 

On learning with whom he was dealing in the 


238 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


Rue Vandrezanne, the worthy detective reproached 
himself less for having been duped. 

‘^Be so kind,’* resumed M. de Belval, ^'as to ad- 
dress the gentlemen of the jury, and tell them 
what you know of the affair.” 


HE KILLED HIMSELF. 


239 


CHAPTER XXL 

HE KILLED HIMSELF. 

Mr. Dow, turning to the jury, began in these 
words : — 

Gentlemen, sent by my government to France 
on confidential business, which obliged me to re- 
main somewhat incognito, I took lodgings in the 
Hotel du Dauphin in the Rue Marlot. I had been 
there two months, and was finding it less necessary 
to conceal myself, for I had nearly finished the 
search with which I was charged, when one evening 
I heard sighs in the room next mine. On listening 
attentively, I caught certain words that were of a 
nature to excite my curiosity: ‘Yes, I wish to 
see her, forgive her, and hold her in my arms,* 
said my neighbor, who was weeping. 

“The next day and the days following, as I 
heard the same laments, I wished to know the 
man who involuntarily made me the confidant of 
his misfortunes, — conjugal misfortunes I sup- 
posed. Inquiring of one of the waiters in the 
hotel, I learned that the lodger, who had a room 
near mine, was called M. Desrochers, and had 
been there a few days. It was then towards the 
middle of February. I learned, besides, that this 


240 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

man went out but little, never spoke to any one, 
and seemed sad and pre-occupied. 

My instincts as a detective immediately 
pointed out to me that I was on the track of some 
family tragedy; and, when I met M. Desrochers 
two or three times, I became convinced that he 
was thinking of some strange project. My sleep- 
ing-room was separated from his by an unused 
door whose joints had been coveted with strips of 
gray paper : I raised one of them, which enabled 
me to study my neighbor with my eyes as well as 
my ears. A fortnight later I became acquainted 
with his every thought. 

"‘I ask your pardon, your honor, for entering into 
these details ; but I believe them indispensable to 
make the gentlemen of the jury understand under 
what conditions I have been led to interest myself 
in this affair, and why I next pursued the end 
which I hoped and still hope to attain.’' 

Go on, sir : do not omit any thing that you 
think useful. The court will listen to you with no 
less attention than will the gentlemen of the jury.” 

The audience kept the most profound silence : 
they seemed to have a presentiment of some 
strange defioiiment to this mysterious case. M. 
Lachaud was taking notes. 

As for the accused, she did not take her eyes 
from the man whom she had despaired of ever see- 
ing again. 

William Dow resumed, — 

‘'Yes, gentlemen, after a fortnight of incessant 


HE KILLED HIMSELF, 


241 


watching, I knew the struggle that was going on 
in M. Desrochers’ heart. His laments and reflec- 
tions taught me that it was not his wife whom he 
wished to see again, but his daughter, who had 
been taken away from him. Only, although the 
unhappy man eagerly longed to meet his child, he 
felt that pride commanded him to be seen by no 
one. His daughter was but a few steps from him. 
He had only to go to her home openly ; but he did 
not wish to do so. 

‘^Ten times I saw him, when night had come, 
approach No. 13, extend his hand towards the bell, 
then turn away. He then returned to his post of 
observation at his window, and it was from there 
one night that he discovered the signal between 
the postal-clerk and his concierge. The silence 
of the street enabled him to ascertain what M. 
Tissot was doing. He watched him several times ; 
and, when he felt certain that this lodger would 
return without being seen by Bernier and his wife, 
— for he had been able to assure himself, through 
the window of their room, that their bed was far 
from the door, — he resolved to slip stealthily into 
the same house. 

‘Ht is probable that M. Desrochers — I con- 
tinue to call him by this name, since I did not 
then know who he was — inquired at the post- 
office in regard to M. Tissot’s absences, in order 
to take his measures in consequence. 

‘'Thus we come to the night of the 3d of 
March, which the unhappy father had chosen to 


242 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 

visit his daughter. It was very certain that he 
had seen the sister of charity, who was taking care 
of the sick lady, and it was one reason more for 
him not to defer the execution of his plan ; for he 
did not know if the next day his daughter would 
again be alone. 

What I have just told you, gentlemen, not being 
suppositions, but actual facts, I think that I have 
shown you this first truth, that M. Desrochers was 
not aware, on reaching Paris, of the way to se- 
cretly gain access to his daughter, and that he 
owed the discovery of the means only to himself. 

‘‘ We are now going into the domain of hypoth- 
esis and analysis, which will afterwards be cor- 
roborated by such material proofs that they will 
appear to you like palpable truths.’* 

‘‘Goon, sir,” said M. de Belval, deeply inter- 
ested himself by this recital. 

The American continued, — 

“ On the 3d of March M. Desrochers returned 
home towards nine o’clock, as is proved by the 
newspaper Le Soir being in his room that day. 
He left it probably at ten or eleven o’clock, when 
the Rue Marlot had long been deserted. He rang 
at the door of No. 13, and rapped on the window- 
shutter at the same time : the door was opened, 
and he entered. 

There was a full moon at the time, but the 
weather was gloomy, — that is, at intervals: the 
sky was first cloudy, then it would be light as day. 
‘'M. Desrochers could then, without groping. 


HE KILLED HIMSELF. 


243 


find his way to the stairs, whose situation he could, 
besides, study from the street. He went up the 
first flight, then the second. His heart must have 
beat fast when he reached the landing on which 
the door of his daughter’s room opened. He must 
have hesitated a long time before deciding to ring. 
He remained there a quarter of an hour, — a half- 
hour perhaps ; but, hearing a sound on one of the 
lower stories, and fearing to be caught, he ascended 
to the fourth, where, leaning against the wall in 
the corner near M. Tissot’s door, he listened.” 

Who gave you to suppose that M. Desrochers, 
or rather Rumigny, passed above the third story of 
the house ^ ” asked M. de Belval, stopping the 
narrator with a gesture. 

** Sir,” answered William Dow with a shrewd 
smile, it is not a supposition, but a certainty of 
which I am going to give you the proof.” 

Let us hear it.” 

Outside of M. Tissot’s door, at the height of 
a man, on the casing, there is a nail on which 
the lodger of this room sometimes hung his key. 
Now, in visiting this part of the house with the 
police-commissioner, I saw on this nail a little 
piece of maroon-colored stuff. Here it is : I have 
most carefully saved it.” 

The American handed the messenger the article 
of which he had been speaking, and the latter 
gave it to the president. 

'' If you will place this fragment near the cuff 
of the right sleeve of the coat, which is among the 


244 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

articles in evidence, you will see that it fits per- 
fectly a slight tear on that side of the garijient.” 

It is true,’' said M. de Belval, after making 
the examination by the means of the messenger. 
‘‘See, gentlemen of the jury.” 

The garment passed from hand to hand to the 
jury’s bench, who recognized the exactness of the 
fact stated by the witness. 

“ But,” asked the president, “ how can you 
explain the presence of this piece of stuff on this 
nail ” 

“Very plainly, sir,” answered the American. 
“ The old man, taking refuge in the corner near 
this door, leaned against it with his arm raised to 
support his head ; and, as he suddenly stooped, no 
doubt, not to be discovered in case the sound he 
had just heard were made by a person ascending 
to the third story, the cuff of his garment, which 
was just the height of this nail, was caught by it, 
and this piece of stuff was left on it.” 

“That is possible : go on.” 

“ What passed afterwards is no less easy to de- 
monstrate. While stooping, M. Rumigny’s hand 
touched the mat before M. Tissof’s door ; he felt 
the key there ; and, feeling sure that the lodger of 
the room would not return that night, he entered, 
in order to be able to stop a moment in safety, 
to collect his ideas, and wait for the favorable 
moment.” 

“And what did he do after entering this 
room ? ” 


HE KILLED HIMSELF. 


245 


‘‘ He sank on the first seat within reach, — that 
is to say, on the chair placed against M. Tissot’s 
table ; he leaned his elbows on it, holding his 
head in both hands, feeling a thousand thoughts 
rush to his brain, while he tried to regain a little 
composure. It was by putting his hands on the 
table that he felt the knife, and took possession 
of it to defend himself with ; for this irascible and 
violent old man must have thought at that mo- 
ment that he, perhaps, was going to meet one of 
the lodgers, who would take him for a thief, for 
aught he knew. It might be Balterini himself, 
to whom he certainly would not give way. 

*‘When armed, M. Rumigny pushed back his 
seat with a sudden movement, and that was how 
the commissioner found it far from the table, and 
sideways : he opened the door, closed it gently, 
and, leaning on the banister of the stairs, listened. 

‘‘Hearing no sound, he began to descend, knife 
in hand ; but the moon was veiled, and the dark- 
ness profound, and he could only grope his way 
along. The blood throbbed in his temples : you 
must remember that M. Rumigny was more than 
sixty, and of a sanguine temperament. He had 
to support himself by the walls, with that same 
hand that held the sharpened weapon. At the 
turn of the stairs most probably, where the steps 
are broader and deceived his hesitating feet, he 
lost his equilibrium, and his head struck against 
his hand held out before him. It was thus that 
he cut his neck from front to back, making that 


246 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MAR LOT. 

wound, or rather that scratch, from which the 
blood spurted not very freely, but enough to ex- 
cite to the highest pitch his unreasoning fear. 

“ He felt it trickling on his hand, which he 
leaned against the wall, as he reached the third 
story ; the trace of it has been found there. At 
that story, two steps from Mile. Rumigny’s door, 
there was, the evidence says, a large waterproof 
garment hung on a rack. A moonbeam gave it 
the appearance of a motionless figure. 

‘‘ Hiding against the wall, in the corner of the 
staircase, and feeling himself grow dizzy, the old 
man, with his head full of visions, took this gar- 
ment for a man who was watching him, for Bal- 
terini himself, and sprang forward with uplifted 
hand. But striking, and his knife piercing only 
empty air, — the cut of the knife has been found 
in the waterproof, — he felt indescribable terror, 
even horror, which suddenly finished the rush 
of blood to the brain, which the struggle he had 
been undergoing for an hour had begun. 

He held out his hand to sustain himself by 
the banister, and tried to scream ; but the apoplexy 
had overpowered him, and he rolled down from 
step to step, still holding the knife in his clinched 
hand. 

‘‘When he stopped in his fall, his right arm, 
being held before him, suddenly doubled up under 
the weight of his body ; and the weapon, by a 
movement one can easily imagine, was plunged 
obliquely, from top to bottom and from right to 
left, into the unhappy man’s body.” 


HE KILLED HIMSELF. 


247 


These last words were hardly spoken when the 
audience, not being able to control its emotion, 
burst into applause. The crowd rose to get a 
better glimpse of the man whose keenness of 
observation, and power of analysis, had so correctly 
joined the links in this mysterious tragedy of the 
night of the 3d of March. 

M. de Belval so well understood this sentiment 
that he with difficulty commanded silence. 

The advocate-general, Gerard, was grave and 
dignified, like an honest man who has silenced his 
pride to perform a duty. 

M. Lachaud smiled at Margaret Rumigny, who 
wept, and held out her clasped hands towards her 
savior. 

The jury looked at each other in amazement. 
Some were already prepared to affirm that they 
had never believed in the guilt of the accused. 

M. Adolphe Morin was deathly pale ; and Picot, 
whose fanciful mind had perhaps nurtured some 
disagreeable disposition towards M. Rumigny’s 
nephew, — Picot, we say, seemed quite discomfited, 
and murmured, — 

‘‘Not an assassin, then! Sapristi ! but he is 
an old fox all the same.” 

William Dow alone remained the same. The 
impassiveness of this man, in the midst of the 
various emotions which he had just excited, was a 
strange sight. 

After leaving the audience time to grow calm, 
M. de Belval ordered silence, and he was imme- 


248 N-UMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT, 

diately obeyed ; then, addressing the AmeriC:an, 
he said, — 

‘‘ The court thanks you, sir, for the explanations 
that you have just given, which put matters in a 
new light. Have you any thing to add to your 
deposition } ” 

‘‘Yes, sir,’' answered Mr. Dow: “if the court 
and the gentlemen of the jury will grant me a 
few seconds more.” 

“Go on, sir.” 

“ I have a very great desire to demonstrate that 
my hypothesis in regard to the manner of M. 
Rumigny’s death has no absolute contradictions, 
even in the report of the illustrious Dr. Ravinel. 
I humbly ask him, as well as yourself, permission 
to address a few questions to him.” 

The celebrated practitioner, who had remained 
in the hall, quickly responded to the president’s 
invitation by joining the foreigner in the witness- 
box. 

“ Sir,” said William Dow, in a very deferential 
tone, “ do you think that M. Rumigny was of an 
apoplectic temperament 1 ” 

“As well as I can judge by the examination 
of his body, I think so,” answered Dr. Ravinel. 

“Do you think that M. Rumigny, being armed 
as I have said, could, while slipping on the stairs, 
have made the scratch on his neck to which you 
have testified 1 ” 

“ It is supposable : the direction of the cut 
gives grounds for this supposition as well as for 
any other.” 


HE KILLED HIMSELF. 


249 


“ Do you not think that the wound in the groin, 
received by a man in normal physiological condi- 
tions, would have permitted him to live a few hours 
longer, to scream, and call for help, to take a few 
steps, by reason of the hemorrhage being checked 
by the suffusion of blood into the femoral artery ? ” 
That is perfectly true : such a wound may not 
cause immediate death.” 

Moreover, is not the flow of blood in a corpse 
less than in a living person ? ” 

Indisputably : that is a fact long since shown 
by science.” 

‘‘ I thank you, doctor : those are the only expla- 
nations I desire to obtain from you;” and bowing 
to M. Ravinel, whom the president authorized to 
withdraw, Mr. Dow turned to the jury to add, — 

“ Well, gentlemen, is it possible to admit, that, 
if M. Rumigny had been murdered, hb would not 
have called some one to his aid, that he would 
not have attempted to escape, to take a few steps ? 
Now, he has been found at the very place where 
he fell, and where he was struck. That is unde- 
niable, since not a drop of blood has been found, 
either on the stairs or near his body. Therefore 
there was no struggle or resistance. His watch, 
being stopped by his fall, pointed to thirty-five 
minutes past midnight : that is the hour when he 
fell, and fell dead ; since his wound, if he received 
it while living, would have permitted him to strug- 
gle, to call out, and to drag himself along, leaving 
a track of blood on the floor. Therefore he was 
no longer alive. 


250 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT. 


“And does not the hemorrhage, which was com- 
paratively inconsiderable, become a material fact, 
and change my hypothesis into reality? If the 
famous doctor who has so kindly been willing to 
answer me had opened the dead man’s brain, he 
would, I am certain, have discovered it to be the 
seat of apoplexy; and his science would have led 
him more surely than I have been able to do to 
the conclusion of involuntary suicide, and not to 
assassination.” 

More and more confounded, the court and the 
audience still listened. M. Adolphe Morin was 
livid ; and Margaret Rumigny, with tearful eyes 
unnaturally wide open, was devouring every word 
the American uttered. 

“ Gentlemen,” continued Mr. Dow, “I have only 
one word more to add ; and that is about M. Rumi- 
gny’s supposed assassin, Balterini, whom French 
justice has sought in vain. It was very difficult 
to find him, for his real name and his face were 
unknown. But I found his picture in a medallion 
which fell from Mile. Rumigny’s bosom when I 
saved her. Besides, thanks to M. Adolphe Morin, 
whom I interviewed at Rheims, I learned that M. 
Balterini arrived in that city recommended to 
M. Rumigny by the celebrated Italian composer 
Alberti. I went to Naples, where I learned from 
M. Alberti himself that his friend’s name was Ro- 
mello, that he was condemned to ten years’ confine- 
ment for a political crime, and that he had taken 
refuge in New York in order to escape extradition. 


HE KILLED HIMSELF. 


251 


Provided with this information, I went to Amer- 
ica, where I found M. Romello without difficulty. 
He did not know what had happened. It is useless 
to say he had not received a summons ; and, feeling 
greatly disturbed at the long silence of Mile. Ru- 
migny, who had not answered his letters for more 
than four months, was about to embark for France, 
to which he could safely return, since his distin- 
guished friend Alberti had obtained his pardon. 

told him of the events that had happened, 
and we sailed together on the 19th of last month. 
Here is a paper which testifies that on the fatal 3d 
of March M. Romello had already been in New 
York more than two months, and did not leave that 
city till the 19th of last June. This document was 
drawn up by the aldermen of the district in which 
he lived. Besides, it is signed and attested by the 
consul-general of France.” 

While saying these words, the American handed 
the messenger a paper, which the latter gave to 
the president. 

The honorable magistrate opened it, assured 
himself with a glance that it was a business-like 
declaration in regard to the stay of the accused at 
New York up to the time indicated by the wit- 
ness, and passed it on to the advocate-general. 

‘H hoped,” resumed Mr. Dow, ‘‘ to be here before 
the opening of the trial, but an accident at sea 
prevented. It was only to-day, at one o’clock in 
the afternoon, that we reached Paris. I say we ; 
for M. Robert Romello is here in the entry, at the 
order of the court and justice ! ” 


252 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MAR LOT 

We will not try to describe the stir in the audi- 
ence at this last revelation. 

Every one rose, but immediately cries of com- 
passion were heard : Margaret Rumigny had suc- 
cumbed to emotion, and fainted. 

The guards carried out the poor woman, to 
whom M. Lachaud hastened, and the hearing was 
necessarily suspended. 

William Dow, followed by the admiring looks 
of all, hastened to hide himself in the crowd, and 
chance brought him by the side of Picot. 

The magistrates who had assembled in the 
council-room consulted together as to whether the 
affair should be postponed to another session, or 
judged at the one now being held. M. de Belval, 
moved by a sentiment of humanity, was in favor 
of the latter proposition. He prevailed ; and in 
less than a quarter of an hour, the accused having 
recovered, the court resumed its session. 

The advocate-general immediately took the floor ; 
and, as will be understood, it was to nobly retract 
his speech of prosecution, and abandon the accu- 
sation against Margaret Rumigny. 

‘‘ We regret,'' said he in conclusion, ‘‘ that the 
law does not permit us to do the same by Balte- 
rini ; but the code is rigid. Having had a com- 
mitment for trial, the accused must appear before 
the assizes. Balterini, being pursued as one in 
default, must surrender himself as a prisoner. 
However, we will gladly join in the request of the 
court that he be left in conditional liberty." 


HR KILLED HIMSELF, 


253 


A murmur of approval followed these words, 
then silence was resumed at the first call to order 
of the president. 

M. Lachaud,” then said M. de Belval, you 
have the floor, if you think it neccessary to plead 
in spite of the abandonment of the accusation by 
the public ofificers.” 

The illustrious lawyer rose. 

/'Yes, gentlemen of the court; yes, gentlemen 
of the jury,'' said he ; "I must speak, even if it were 
only to thank the advocate-general, whose conduct, 
which has been so worthy in this affair, honors 
the seat which he occupies much more than the 
most brilliant speeches, — even were it only to 
thank the courageous man who, after saving Mar- 
garet Rumigny from death, has done so much to 
prove her innocence. But, this first duty being 
accomplished, I must still finish my task ; for 
there exist in this case two mysterious facts which 
I must bring to light. There must not remain 
in the minds of the gentlemen of the jury, I will 
not say the shadow of a doubt, — there could not 
be any, — but the slightest point that has not been 
cleared up. Light must shine into the minds of 
all here, and on every thing. 

" With a spirit of analysis, a talent of observa- 
tion, and a close logic, that we cannot enough ad- 
mire, Mr. William Dow has too well painted for 
us every phase in this tragedy of the night of the 
3d of March for me to return to it : it would be an 
insult to your intelligence. Let us pass on. What 


254 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


I wish to explain to you is Mile. Rumigny’s con- 
duct, and her silence in regard to Balterini. 

‘ How is it,' some of you will be sure to ask, 
‘that Margaret Rumigny refused to answer the 
examining magistrate and the eminent magistrate 
who presides over us, when they asked where was 
the man whom justice was seeking.?' Do you 
remember that on the 3d of March it was more 
than a month since the unfortunate woman had 
left her bed, and that if she did go out twice after 
the 3d of March before the day of her arrest, it 
was only to take a few steps, which exercise she 
soon abandoned on account of her weakness .? 
Now, it was not in the Rue Marlot that Margaret 
Rumigny received Balterini’s letters,- but at the 
post-office. She then told the truth when she 
answered that she did not know whether Balterini 
had written her. 

“ She really knew nothing about it, since she had 
not been able to go and assure herself. Why did 
she not say where the man they accused of a fright- 
ful crime sent her his correspondence .? Ah ! gen- 
tlemen, Mile. Rumigny asks pardon to-day of the 
man whom she loves, and for whom she has suf- 
fered so much : it was because, being bewildered 
by an impenetrable mystery, she was afraid. In a 
moment of fear, she wondered if Balterini, who 
informed her of his departure for America, had 
not suddenly returned to enter her house secretly, 
by the aid of the means she had pointed out, and 
if, meeting her father there by fatal chance, he 


HE KILLED HIMSELF, 


255 


really had not become his murderer. It is horri- 
ble ! and you can understand all her terrors. In 
these letters, one could it is true, find the proof 
of Balterini’s stay in America ; but one might also 
discover that of his return. Margaret kept silent. 
As an expiation for her father’s death, of which 
she had been the involuntary cause, she made 
the sacrifice of her honor and her life. Let the 
president deign to send for the letters at the post- 
office addressed to the initials ‘ R. R. M. R.,’ — 
they are those of these unfortunates, Robert Ro- 
mello, Margaret Rumigny, — and the court will 
have in their hands a last indisputable proof of 
Balterini’s absence since the last year. 

I would conclude here, gentlemen, if I had 
not a last task to accomplish, — that of accusing, 
since I have no one to defend. Oh ! the name 
that I am going to speak is on the lips of all of 
you, — M. Adolphe Morin. You have heard this 
witness who swore before Christ to tell all the 
truth, this relation of whom the law itself would 
allow indulgence, — you heard him pitilessly accuse 
Margaret Rumigny, and represent her to you in 
honeyed and hypocritical words, as an unnatural 
daughter, without affection or respect for her 
father. You heard him insinuate that what had 
happened was fated ; that Margaret, from her ear- 
liest youth, had shown the worst instincts, and that 
she had finally become the shame and sorrow of 
her family. 

‘‘Well, gentlemen, these are infamous calum- 


256 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE HARLOT 

nies. I have here, in my hand, one hundred 
letters from the most honorable inhabitants of 
Rheims; and all agree in saying — Heaven forbid 
that I should fail in respect to the memory of him 
who is no more, but it is my duty to conceal noth- 
ing — that M. Rumigny was a violent, selfish, 
quick-tempered man, while his daughter was an 
angel of sweetness and goodness. What was the 
purpose, then, of Adolphe Morin’s falsehoods, and 
his false testimony, the more perfidious that it fell 
from the lips of a relative, who, since his cousin’s 
arrest, played the odious comedy of devotion and 
despair } Ah ! M. Morin is a skilful man. Mar- 
garet Rumigny refused to become his wife ; and 
he wished to avenge himself, and at the same time 
enrich himself. Yes, gentlemen, enrich himself ! 
for, being declared guilty of parricide by your 
verdict. Mile. Rumigny becoming unworthy, the 
law would disinherit her, and it was to M. Morin, 
to that excellent relative, that all the dead man’s 
fortune would go. 

I will not add a word ; for I read on your faces, 
as well as on that of the eminent organ of the 
public ministry, that I no longer need to recom- 
mend Margaret Rumigny to your kind opinion 
any more than t6 give M. Adolphe Morin to your 
reprobation.” 

A thousand enthusiastic cheers greeted these 
concluding words of the illustrious lawyer, and 
a void was at once made around M. Morin, whose 
disturbed face was livid ; but on seeing M. Gerard 


HE KILLED HIMSELF. 


257 


rise, the audience suddenly grew calm. It was un- 
derstood instinctively that all was not concluded. 

Gentlemen,” said the eminent magistrate, ad- 
dressing the judges, ‘^this time I again make com- 
mon cause with my adversary ; for, using his last 
words, I require that it please the court to order 
the arrest of the witness, Adolphe Morin, for hav- 
ing given false testimony.” 

‘^The public ministry and the defence being 
of accord,” answered M. de Belval, “ by application 
of the article 330, the Court orders the arrest of 
Adolphe Morin. Guards, watch the witness that 
he may not leave the audience.” 

Oh ! I will answer for him,” said Picot, aloud, 
amidst the applause of the crowd, laying his ner- 
vous hand on M. Morin’s shoulder, who did not 
think of escaping. 

And the detective added, addressing M. Meslin, 
who approached him, — 

“ Well, at last I have nabbed a guilty man.” 

The jury retired into their room for deliberation ; 
and Margaret, who had been taken from the room, 
fell fainting with joy and happiness, this time into 
the arms of Romello, whom M. Lachaud had 
brought into the waiting-room. 

Ten minutes later, the jury having rendered a 
negative verdict on every question, in favor of the 
accused. President de Belval pronounced Margaret 
Rumigny acquitted, and ordered her to be immedi- 
ately released. 


258 NUMBER THIRTEEN RUE MARLOT 


CHAPTER XXIL 

WHICH SHOWS THAT MASTER PICOT WAS SATIS- 
FIED. 

One month after this terrible day, the loth of 
July, Robert Romello also appeared before the 
jury, and seated himself, though without fear, in 
the same place where Margaret had suffered and 
wept so much. 

The hearing lasted only a few seconds. Through 
a sentiment which proved the nobleness and ele- 
vation of his character, M. Gerard wished to have 
a new sitting. In eloquent and dignified terms, 
he abandoned the accusation, and Romello in his 
turn soon heard himself acquitted. 

A day or two later Robert and Margaret left 
Paris, not without having warmly thanked La- 
chaud and William Dow, their two preservers. 

Margaret wished at first to go to Rheims, to 
pray on the tomb of her father and daughter ; for 
Romello had conveyed the latter to the family 
tomb of the Rumignys. 

Then Margaret and Robert left for Italy ; and a 
few weeks later they were married, united in hap- 
piness and hope, as they had been in sorrow and 
despair. 


SJ70PVS THAT PICOT WAS SATISFIED, 259 

During this time M. Adolphe Morin entered 
upon the year’s imprisonment to which he had 
been condemned for perjury. 

As for the mysterious stranger, he disappeared, 
and Picot had almost forgotten him, when he one 
morning received in a large document his nomi- 
nation as a sergeant, and also the following let- 
ter 

In all matters of detective service, judicial proceedings, 
and inquests, do nothing superficially or with too much con- 
fidence in some theory. Never judge by appearances, do 
not neglect unimportant matters, and especially be not the 
victim of an idea. It is better to save one innocent per- 
son than to bring ten that are guilty to punishment.’* 

'' Capital ! ” cried Picot, delighted at this unex- 
pected good fortune : what a splendid fellow this 
American is ! I must read this to M. Meslin, who 
has treated me as if I were an idiot.” 

We shall some day describe what powerful 
motives influenced William Dow to put in prac- 
tice, as we have seen, the maxim given in the last 
two lines of his letter to Picot. 




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